Dear Diary,
It was just another evening when the shouting started again. ‘What’s wrong with you this time?! How long can this go on?! I’ve had enough of it all!’ My mother’s voice carried from behind the door of one of the flats and echoed through the entire block.
At that moment my sister Emily and I were heading up the stairs. We froze on the spot as if we’d run into an invisible wall. For a second our eyes met, and in that brief exchange no words were needed. We both understood without a sound that it was better to leave right away. Sighing in unison we turned and slipped quietly away from the building. Clearly we had no intention of going back to the flat that night.
Who would choose to spend an evening listening to parents argue without end? We certainly wouldn’t. We walked briskly towards the next block where our grandma Margaret lived. Her flat had become our real refuge lately. What had once been weekend visits had turned into us finding shelter there almost every night.
The mood at home had grown completely unbearable. Mum and Dad seemed to have forgotten the rest of the world and shouted at each other nonstop. The worst part was how they kept trying to pull us into their rows more and more.
Mum would spin round to Emily and ask sharply, ‘Tell me I’m right, won’t you? You agree with me?’
Dad wouldn’t even wait for an answer before turning to me. ‘No, I’m the one who’s right here! Say so!’
Emily and I stayed quiet. We had no wish to choose sides or become part of that endless clash. All we wanted was silence, calm and warmth, the very things we found at Grandma’s.
Scenes like that happened day after day, like a broken record no one dared to lift the needle from. We had learned to read the faint signals that a row was about to start. A certain tone, a sudden sharp movement, the way they glanced at each other, those became the warnings that it was time to go. No child wants to live with that constant strain where any ordinary talk can turn into a loud row in an instant.
We simply couldn’t work out what had set off this disaster. Our family had never been perfect like the ones in adverts, yet Mum and Dad used to know how to sort things out. Rows happened of course, but they ended in calm talks rather than yelling. Mum might frown, Dad might raise his voice a little, but after half an hour everything was settled. We’d all sit down again for tea and talk about weekend plans.
Roughly two years ago it all shifted. It felt as though someone had quietly replaced our old parents with different ones who now found reasons to argue over the smallest everyday things. A dirty mug left on the table? That sparked a long speech about carelessness and disrespect. A shirt hung on the wrong hook? Cause for cutting remarks about keeping the place tidy. A teaspoon forgotten in the sink? Almost a crime that deserved minutes of debate.
One evening Emily sat in Grandma’s kitchen stirring her tea without really thinking about it. She stayed quiet for a long while, watching the amber swirls in the cup, then asked with real bitterness, ‘How can it be like this, Grandma? Everything changed after their holiday together. What went on there?’
Grandma Margaret paused, set her cup on its saucer and gently ran her hand over Emily’s. She herself could only guess at the reasons for the family trouble, and those guesses brought her no joy.
‘The grown-ups will work it out,’ she answered softly, making her voice sound steady. ‘Sometimes people need time to see the right thing to do.’
Emily nodded but the look in her eyes showed she didn’t fully believe it. She knew Grandma was keeping something back yet she didn’t push. What was the use? While we were still seen as children nothing serious would be shared with us.
‘We can’t take these shouts any longer!’ I burst out in frustration. ‘We can’t get homework done properly or even read a book! I can’t remember the last time we all sat down at the table together. If it’s so hard for them to be together let them divorce and it will be easier for everyone!’
The words came out on their own but they held the truth of the last months. I was speaking for both of us because I knew Emily felt exactly the same. There had been no peace at home for ages: Mum would say something sharp, Dad would answer with irritation, and another row would begin with nowhere to hide.
‘Oliver…’ Grandma sounded taken aback. She set aside her knitting, looked at me carefully and slowly shook her head. ‘Have you thought about what happens if they divorce? You’d have to be split up. Are you ready to live apart from Emily?’
‘We’ll live with you!’ Emily said at once, giving Grandma a pleading look. ‘We spend almost all our time here already! You wouldn’t mind, would you?’
Grandma Margaret stayed still. She understood how we felt and saw how worn out we were from the constant rows. On one side we would truly be safe with her in a calm and kind place where we could do homework without noise, read books in quiet and simply feel protected. She loved us without limit and was ready to surround us with care.
On the other side what about our parents? How could we explain that we no longer wanted to live at home? Would they agree to such an arrangement? If they did how would it change their bond with us? Might the result of this step be a complete break with them?
‘Let’s not hurry,’ she said after a deep breath. ‘I’m always glad to have you here, you know that. But first let’s try talking to Mum and Dad. Perhaps together we can find a way to put things right.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll speak to them ourselves,’ Emily declared with confidence and a happy smile. Grandma had nearly agreed and that mattered most! ‘Just don’t turn us down please! We really can’t stay there any more! It will be better for them apart otherwise one day they might actually harm each other! I saw Dad raise his hand at Mum yesterday. He didn’t hit her, honestly! But he was right on the edge.’
Emily fell silent, thinking back to that frightening moment. She had gone into the kitchen for a glass of water and stopped in the doorway: Dad stood half turned to Mum, his hand shot upwards and Mum instinctively ducked. A second later he lowered it but that second had stretched into an age for her.
‘Grandma say yes!’ I backed my sister. I moved closer and took Grandma’s hand as if afraid she would refuse now. ‘We’ll help you with everything around the house. Just don’t send us back there. They pay us no attention at all! Yesterday I went to Dad and told him about a parents’ evening. Do you know what he answered? “Go and ask your mum!” So I did. Guess what Mum said?’
‘Go and ask your dad?’ Grandma asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
‘Exactly!’ I gave a bitter laugh. ‘Then they argued for another two hours about who should go. Sat in separate rooms and shouted at each other down the hallway. I just stood there listening.’
‘And I asked them to sign a form for a museum trip,’ Emily added, eyes lowered. Her fingers nervously twisted the edge of her sleeve. ‘Now I’m the only one in the class who won’t be going. Neither of them signed the paper. Instead they started arguing again, Mum shouting that it was Dad’s job and Dad insisting Mum should deal with school matters.’
Grandma Margaret watched us and saw how deeply tired we were. The weariness in our eyes was not ordinary childhood tiredness but something that had built up over months, every day the same, with family warmth replaced by constant rows and support replaced by indifference.
‘It is always like this,’ I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. My voice sounded weary as if I had repeated it hundreds of times already. ‘Any request from us becomes the reason for a fresh row. We don’t even want to come home. A couple of days ago we arrived at eleven at night and do you think they told us off? No! They just sent us straight to bed without asking where we had been. Then they spent ages blaming each other for poor parenting.’
We sighed together once more. In recent months we had seriously considered that divorce was the only way out of the situation. Yet the prospect of being separated frightened us. One of us would stay with Mum, the other with Dad, and the closeness we knew would become rare weekend meetings.
We went over the options whispering at night when we were alone in our room. Once I suggested in jest that we could run away from home, simply grab our bags and go wherever our feet took us. I said it with a smile trying to ease the mood but Emily took the idea seriously. Her eyes lit up for a moment then she said quietly, ‘What if we really did leave? Even for a couple of days…’ In that moment we both understood that the situation at home had become so unbearable that even the thought of running away no longer seemed completely mad.
Then the idea struck us: Grandma! Why not move in with her? The thought came to both of us at the same time as if we were thinking together. Emily voiced it first. ‘What if we ask Grandma if we can live with her? She definitely won’t shout or argue. And we won’t have to listen to those endless rows…’ I picked it up straight away. ‘Yes! She’s kind and always supports us. And her flat is big enough for us to have space.’
We began to picture a new life in our minds: calm breakfasts, the chance to do homework in quiet, evenings playing board games with Grandma. No shouts, no accusations, no need to hide in our room to avoid getting caught in the heat of things. For the first time in a long while hope began to glow in our hearts. Let the parents sort themselves out while we finally found peace, that was what Emily and I thought as we imagined living at Grandma’s.
‘Mum, Dad, we need to talk seriously,’ we said firmly standing in front of them. We had waited until evening when both were home and walked decisively into the living room. Emily held my hand tightly so it was easier for her to stay confident. ‘But first promise you’ll listen to us all the way through before you give your opinion.’
Dad looked up from his phone with surprise. Mum, who had been sorting things on the sofa, straightened sharply. Their faces showed they thought we had said something unthinkable.
‘This is all down to your parenting!’ she huffed crossing her arms. ‘The children are already giving us conditions! As if we have to answer to them!’
‘Look who’s talking!’ Dad flared at once putting the phone aside. ‘I’m always at work trying to provide for the family. You’ve been with them the whole time! What have you taught them? Why are they giving orders now?’
We glanced at each other. We had expected something like this, that the talk would slide straight into the usual pattern of mutual blame. Yet we could not back down.
‘That’s enough!’ Emily cried almost in tears. She took a step forward trying to speak clearly and calmly though everything inside her was shaking. ‘Oliver and I have thought it over and decided you need to divorce.’
The room went completely quiet. Mum froze with her mouth half open while Dad slowly rose from the sofa.
‘Well that’s news!’ Mum’s voice sounded threatening. ‘Emily you’re still far too young to tell adults how to live their lives! And what else have you “decided”? Perhaps you’ll divide the flat for us as well?’
‘If you don’t divorce we’ll go to social services,’ I said gripping Emily’s hand as if drawing strength from it. My voice sounded steady though inside I didn’t entirely believe I was saying it for real. ‘And then Dad you could lose your job. Your firm doesn’t welcome scandals does it? You said yourself that reputation is everything.’
‘And you Mum,’ Emily went on looking straight into her eyes, ‘the neighbours will stop respecting you. They won’t even speak to you! Everyone knows how you shout at each other and we’ll fill in the details!’
‘They’re threatening us! Just look at them!’ Mum finally managed to say turning her gaze from one of us to the other. ‘These are our own children! How can you treat us like this?’
‘We’re not threatening,’ I said quietly but with certainty. ‘We simply want you to understand that living this way isn’t possible. We’re exhausted! Exhausted by the shouting, by the fact that you don’t hear us, by the way even simple requests turn into rows.’
‘You will divorce and move apart and we will live with Grandma,’ we finished together as we had rehearsed. ‘It will be better for everyone: peace for us and no constant conflicts for you. We no longer want to be caught in the middle.’
Mum and Dad stayed still. For the first time in a long while they had nothing to say in reply. Usually in talks like this they would start arguing at once, interrupting each other and looking for someone to blame, but now both seemed struck dumb.
Their thirteen-year-old children were behaving in a completely unexpected way! Emily and I stood side by side holding hands and looked at them firmly without our usual shyness. We were speaking about such serious matters that the adults themselves had tried to avoid thinking about.
The parents had considered divorce themselves more than once. What always stopped them was the same question: who would the children stay with? Separating twins seemed unthinkable because we were so close, always did everything together and supported each other. They could not imagine tearing one of us from the other and making us live in different homes seeing each other only at weekends.
The idea of us going to Grandma had never occurred to them before. Perhaps because both had been too wrapped up in their own hurts and complaints. But now hearing our suggestion they could not help wondering whether this might be the answer. Grandma loved us, her flat was spacious and she was always pleased to see us. Maybe it really would solve at least part of the problems?
‘I’ll ring Mum,’ Dad said at last through gritted teeth. His voice sounded thick as if the words came with difficulty. ‘If she agrees…’
He did not finish the sentence. Mum cut in sharply and in her voice there was a tiredness that surprised even herself.
‘Then we can finally stop tormenting each other. Ring her. I’ll be glad not to see your face every day.’
Her words hung in the air. She had not meant to be so sharp yet years of stored hurts and disappointments had made them spill out.
‘And I’ll be delighted!’ Dad answered trying to mask with sarcasm the pain her words had caused him.
There was no anger in his tone, only a bitter smile at what their married life had become. He took out his phone and slowly dialled Grandma’s number. While the ringing tone sounded both parents looked in different directions avoiding each other’s eyes. They did not yet know where the conversation would lead but they understood that a point of no return might already have been passed.
That day our family took a decision that would change everything. It began with a long conversation between Dad and Grandma. She listened carefully without interrupting only asking the occasional clarifying question.
When Dad had finally explained everything there was a pause. Grandma drew a deep breath and said, ‘If you both understand that this will be better for the children then I agree. They will be safe here and I will take care of them.’
By evening the parents met in the kitchen for the first time in a long while without shouts or mutual reproaches. They sat opposite each other and began to discuss the details. Gradually step by step they reached the same conclusion: divorce was the only sensible way forward. We would move to Grandma’s and the parents would transfer money to her each month for our upkeep.
Neither of them intended to abandon us. Both solemnly promised to visit at weekends though on different days so as to keep contact between themselves to a minimum.
‘I’ll come on Saturday morning and take you out for a walk and you can come on Sunday,’ Dad said wearily to which Mum nodded in agreement. ‘That will make it simpler. The main thing is that the children don’t feel left behind.’
Their chief aim was to reduce contact as much as possible and thereby avoid fresh conflicts. They agreed not to discuss each other in front of us, not to try to draw us to one side or the other and not to sort out their differences when we were present.
‘We are still their parents,’ Dad said. ‘And we must remain so even if we are no longer husband and wife.’
As time proved the decision worked well. We could at last relax and begin to live like ordinary teenagers. Emily signed up for an art club which she had long wanted to join but had never had the time for because of constant worries. I started going to football and made new friends in the team. We began spending time together again: walking around the city, going to the cinema and talking about school matters without the fear that a row might start at any moment.
Stability returned to our schoolwork as well. Now we had a quiet place for studying with no one distracting us with shouts and arguments. Homework was completed calmly without nerves and this quickly showed in our marks. The teachers noticed the change. ‘You have become so attentive you two! Keep it up!’
Little by little life settled into a new pattern, not perfect but calm and predictable. We no longer hid in our room, no longer jumped at loud voices and no longer worried about every step we took. We simply lived as teenagers should when they are fortunate enough to find support in the most difficult circumstances.
Five years later life in the Thompson family moved along steadily and calmly. Emily and I had long grown used to the new routine: studies, clubs, time with friends and warm evenings at Grandma’s. Our parents still came on alternate days, each on their own day, bringing gifts and attention but without any mutual complaints. Over those years they had learned to talk to each other in a restrained and polite way without the old sudden flashes of anger.
The first personal meeting between the former husband and wife took place at our graduation evening. The school held a formal event and both parents came of course. At first they kept their distance sitting at opposite ends of the hall but gradually the awkwardness eased.
When the dancing began Dad unexpectedly went over to Mum.
‘Perhaps we could have a dance? Remind ourselves of the past.’
She hesitated for a moment then nodded.
After the evening they sat for a long time in the school yard watching the graduates enjoying themselves by the fountain. Conversation started of its own accord, first about us then about the past.
They talked a great deal that night recalling happy moments from their marriage and behaved quite properly. They spoke not of old hurts but of the good things that had once bound them together. Watching from a distance Emily and I could not have been more pleased. All the same it hurt to see two of the people closest to us treat each other almost like enemies.
Yet out of a clear sky came a thunderclap. The very next day Mum and Dad invited us to a café. Over cups of tea they glanced at each other took hold of hands and Dad announced with a broad smile, ‘Kids your mother and I have thought about it and decided to marry again. Over these years we have realised that our feelings never died out! We still love each other and want to become a family once more.’
His voice sounded joyful as if he were sharing the happiest news of his life. Mum glowed clearly expecting an enthusiastic response.
We looked at each other, our faces darkening at once. Disbelief flashed in Emily’s eyes and I clenched my fists under the table. The same mistakes again! What on earth were they thinking? Could they possibly live together without rows?
‘Are you serious?’ was all Emily could manage to say.
‘Absolutely,’ Dad replied with confidence. ‘We have both changed. We have learned to listen to each other. And we want to give our family a second chance.’
We stayed silent. Inside us conflicting feelings battled: on one side we wanted to believe that the parents had truly managed to change, on the other we feared a repeat of the pain we had once gone through.
Yet we made no attempt to talk them out of it. We did not even comment on the announcement which upset them deeply. Mum looked at us in confusion.
‘Aren’t you pleased? We thought you would be happy for us.’
We merely glanced at each other and shrugged. What could we have said? ‘Don’t do it! Don’t ruin your lives!’? The words stuck in our throats. We did not want to seem heartless yet we could not pretend that everything was fine.
The conversation did not flow smoothly for the rest of the meeting. The parents tried to describe their plans while we nodded politely but our thoughts were elsewhere. On the way home Emily said quietly to me, ‘I hope they know what they are doing.’
I simply sighed in reply.
‘So we’re heading to London?’ Emily opened her laptop ready to look through university websites. ‘Far away from this madness. I can already picture how this circus is going to end!’
‘Of course we’re going,’ I said firmly with a weariness in my voice that went beyond my years. I ran a hand through my hair as if trying to shake off the burden of the last months. ‘They will live peacefully for a month or two at most. Then it will start all over again: shouts, doors slamming, accusations. I no longer want to be a hostage to their relationship. I don’t want to wonder every morning what mood they are in and which of us will face the next flood of complaints.’
I stood up and paced the room automatically gathering scattered textbooks. One thought kept circling in my head: why do adults who ought to set an example of wisdom and stability behave like unbalanced teenagers? Why instead of solving problems do they keep stepping on the same rake?
‘We need to get away,’ I repeated stopping by the window. Outside dusk was slowly falling painting the city in soft orange tones. I gazed into the distance as if trying to make out my future there. ‘Far away. So far that their rows cannot reach us. Let them sort themselves out. We are no longer their counsellors, their go-betweens or their lightning conductors. We have our own lives our own dreams and I will not allow them to destroy those with another round of parental madness.’
‘When do we send off the applications?’ Emily asked calmly.
‘Tomorrow,’ I answered without hesitation. ‘So we definitely won’t change our minds.’
She nodded silently without taking her eyes from the screen. Pages of London universities flashed by; she had spent a week studying courses, accommodation in halls and job prospects after graduation. Beside the laptop her notebook was filling with lists: the advantages and disadvantages of each option, required documents, deadlines and contacts for admissions offices.
‘The main thing is to study in peace without being distracted by their dramas,’ she said quietly as if summing up her thoughts. ‘It’s good that we’ll be so far away.’
‘Exactly,’ I agreed sitting down beside her. I tilted my head slightly reading the lines on the screen. ‘And when they start arguing again about who is to blame we won’t even hear it. Let them ring and complain and try to call us to a “family conference”; we are not taking part in that any longer. And their wish to “give the relationship a second chance”,’ I added with a bitter smile, ‘that is their choice not ours.’
Mum and Dad did go ahead with their second wedding. This time they deliberately avoided a big celebration: they did not want extra expense they did not wish to draw attention and to be honest they did not feel anything grand was needed. They kept it to a modest ceremony at the register office and a dinner with the closest people, grandparents a few friends and us.
In the photographs from that day they looked genuinely happy. They smiled held hands and looked at each other with tenderness and warmth. You could see their fingers intertwined soft glances and light touches. It seemed as though all the hurts had been forgotten that the years apart had done some good and that now they knew exactly what they wanted with only a bright future ahead. Looking at those pictures we could not help wondering whether this time everything really would turn out differently.
But alas it did not. The first weeks after the wedding passed surprisingly peacefully: the couple tried to be more attentive to each other said thank you more often and did not pick at small things. Gradually however the old habits began to return. Within a month raised voices could be heard in their flat once more. At first they were restrained reproaches, quiet yet sharp: ‘Have you left that lying around again?’, ‘Why didn’t you let me know you would be late?’, ‘You could have helped since you are at home.’
Then open conflicts began. Rows sprang up over trivial matters: someone had left wet towels in the bathroom someone had forgotten to buy bread someone had turned the television up too loud. Words grew sharper voices louder and the gaps between rows shorter.
After two months just as I had predicted the situation reached boiling point. One evening an argument about who should buy the groceries turned into a full storm. Dad losing control in anger threw a cup at the wall; it smashed with a loud crash and shards scattered across the kitchen. Mum equally enraged grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it to the floor. The sound of breaking crockery echoed through the flat.
After scenes like that the parents always tried to telephone us. Each time the call began the same way: one of them would dial barely having caught their breath after the row and immediately pour out the accumulated grievances.
‘Can you believe what he said today?’ Mum would break down in tears when Emily answered. ‘He doesn’t even try to understand me!’
‘Son you have to understand me she has no control over herself at all,’ Dad would say agitatedly to me. ‘I am trying I really am but she seems to look for an excuse!’
Yet Emily and I had learned to cut these monologues short gently but firmly. We no longer allowed ourselves to be drawn into long discussions or to try to decide who was right and who was wrong. Our replies were short yet unyielding.
‘Mum I’m in a lecture now I’ll ring back later,’ Emily would say calmly checking the time: twenty minutes remained until the class began but she had no wish to listen to another outburst.
‘Dad I have urgent work let’s talk about this at the weekend,’ I would reply without lifting my eyes from the laptop screen. I knew that if I let the parent talk freely the call would stretch to an hour and then I would have to calm them down as well.
‘Later’ and ‘at the weekend’ were always put off. We found excuses, studies part-time jobs meetings with friends, and gradually the calls from our parents grew rarer. We felt no guilt over this: we were simply protecting our nerves and our time knowing we lacked the power to change what was happening between Mum and Dad.
We truly did have our own lives, busy meaningful and far removed from parental dramas. Each of our days now consisted of our own concerns interests and plans rather than waiting for the next row in the next room.
Emily threw herself into the study of psychology. She enjoyed working out how the human mind is put together why people behave as they do and how one can help those who find themselves in difficult situations. In her third year she began volunteering at a centre that helped teenagers from troubled families. There she led group sessions and assisted young people in expressing their feelings and finding ways out of complicated problems. Emily saw reflections of her own past in those teenagers and tried to give them what she herself had once lacked: attention support and the feeling that someone was listening.
I found my place in IT. From the early years of my course I became absorbed in programming; the logic of code fascinated me the possibility of building working systems and solving complex technical problems. I spent a great deal of time at the computer learning new programming languages and taking part in student hackathons. In my fourth year my team came third in a regional competition for developing mobile applications; this gave me confidence and showed that I was heading in the right direction. I took a part-time job at a small IT company where I quickly proved myself reliable and capable. Working on real projects I learned how to work with colleagues how to manage my time sensibly and how to find solutions in unusual situations.
We began to plan a future without constantly looking over our shoulders at parental scandals. Emily dreamed of opening her own practice helping families find common ground. I thought about starting my own business. We discussed plans over cups of tea in cafés drew up schemes and wrote ideas in notebooks. In those moments we felt that we had support that we had a path and that we had a life which belonged only to us.
When Mum and Dad once again tried to drag us into their problems, telephoning in tears and beginning to describe how bad everything was and how they could not understand each other, we answered calmly and firmly. We had already discussed how we would handle the conversation so as not to lose our tempers or slip back into the old role of mediators.
‘That’s enough dear parents sort it out between yourselves,’ Emily stated firmly. ‘You have your life and we have ours.’
‘But you are our children!’ Mum sobbed. ‘You have to support us!’
‘If you behaved normally instead of like little children we would support you,’ I declared at once. ‘You made a mistake by marrying again and you keep tormenting each other. You cannot live together normally in the same space so why do you keep torturing one another? Divorce already and move apart.’
Those words may have sounded harsh yet my sister and I simply wanted to live in peace.
Looking back on all of this now I have learned that sometimes the kindest thing you can do for the people you love is to step away and build a life of your own. You cannot mend what others refuse to fix themselves and peace often comes from drawing clear boundaries rather than trying to stand between two storms forever.