“Lily, dinner is ready!”
I looked up from my book and glanced at the clock.
8:15 p.m.
I closed the book and stood up from the sofa.
“I’m coming, Mum.”
I walked into the dining room and found my mother arranging the plates on the table. My little sister, Emma, was already sitting in her usual seat, swinging her legs beneath the table.
“Where’s Daddy?” Emma asked.
I looked toward the empty chair.
“He isn’t home yet.”
“He said he would be home early today.”
“I know.”
Emma frowned.
“He promised.”
I smiled at her.
“Maybe something came up.”
I wasn't convinced by my own words.
Daddy was always making promises.
And he was always breaking them.
Mum placed the final plate on the table and sat down.
“Let's eat before the food gets cold.”
Emma picked up her spoon.
“I want to wait for Daddy.”
Mum sighed softly.
“Your father may be late.”
“But he promised to bring me something.”
“What did he promise this time?” I asked.
“Chocolate.”
I laughed.
“You and your chocolate.”
She smiled.
“I like chocolate.”
“I know.”
For a moment, the three of us laughed.
It was one of those rare moments when our house felt peaceful.
But peace never seemed to last long.
The sound of the front door opening suddenly made us stop.
Emma's face brightened.
“Daddy!”
She jumped from her chair and ran toward the living room.
I followed more slowly.
My father walked inside.
He looked exhausted.
His shirt was untucked, and his steps were unsteady.
The smell of alcohol immediately filled the room.
Emma stopped in front of him.
“Daddy, my chocolate!”
He stared at her for a moment.
Then he sighed.
“I forgot.”
Her face fell.
“You promised.”
“I said I forgot.”
“But—”
“Emma.”
His voice was sharper this time.
She immediately became quiet.
I walked toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on.”
“But I want Daddy.”
“Let's go back to the table.”
She reluctantly followed me.
Mum approached my father.
“Peter, where have you been?”
He didn't answer.
“Peter?”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
He glared at her.
“Why do you always question me when I come home?”
Mum lowered her voice.
“Because you're coming home late almost every night.”
“I'm the one paying the bills, aren't I?”
The room became silent.
I looked down.
Mum didn't respond.
My father walked past us and headed toward the bedroom.
Then he stopped.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
The moment he looked at the screen, his expression changed.
I noticed it.
He quickly turned the phone away from us.
“Who is it?” Mum asked.
“No one.”
He put the phone back into his pocket.
“Peter…”
“I said it's no one.”
He walked away.
A few seconds later, his bedroom door closed.
Emma looked at me.
“Why is Daddy angry?”
I forced a smile.
“He's just tired.”
“Is he sick?”
“No.”
I hoped that was true.
Mum returned to the dining table and sat down quietly.
She didn't eat.
Neither did I.
Something was wrong.
I didn't know what it was.
But I could feel it.
Later that night, I was lying in bed when I heard my parents talking downstairs.
Their voices were too low for me to understand everything.
I couldn't make out the words.
Then suddenly, Mum's voice became louder.
“You can't keep doing this!”
My eyes opened.
A moment later, Dad answered.
“Keep your voice down.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I'll handle it.”
“You always say that.”
Silence followed.
Then I heard footsteps.
I sat up in bed.
My heart was beating faster.
Someone walked toward the stairs.
I quickly turned off my bedside lamp and pretended to be asleep.
The footsteps passed my room.
I waited until they disappeared.
Then I opened my eyes.
I stared at the ceiling.
What were my parents hiding?
I had a feeling I would find out soon.
I just didn't know that the truth would change my life forever.
