The screech

Mom, Dad, stop now! Her voice erupted with desperation in the midst of their fervent fight. A woman of thirty, her features eternally youthful, sat in the humble apartment that held a strange allure despite the sad stories etched onto its walls. She had been observing the all-too-familiar quarrel between her parents, but at that moment, she remembered that she was no longer a child. She was a mother herself, cradling her two-year-old son in her arms. The scene triggered a rush of memories, taking her back more than two decades to the same place and the same living room. The only difference now was her role in the unfolding drama.

As she held her little boy close, her heart trembled with the echoes of the past. The same fight, an unyielding fixture in their family, seemed to have persisted through time immemorial. She remembered the feelings of powerlessness and fear that had gripped her as a child, witnessing her parents’ clashes. Even back then, she had felt a burning determination to protect her mother from the wrath of her father. With innocent courage, she had tried to shield her mother, but her efforts were met with a violent slap across her soft, white, cottony face. Her father’s colossal fingers had left an indelible mark, both physically and emotionally. That moment had imprinted a vow within her heart, a promise to herself that she would never allow her own children to experience the same torment she endured. The screech of that silent promise reverberated within her soul, a scream she could not vocalize back then. Now, as a mother, she held her boy tighter, cherishing him with all the love she wished she had received during her own childhood. Carrying her precious son to another room, tears streamed down her cheeks, grieving for the childhood that was lost, a period she had passed through without truly living it. The weight of her experiences, and the bitter taste of her parents’ relentless disputes, weighed heavily on her heart. Yet, in the loving embrace of her little one, she found solace and strength. As days passed, she resolved to break the cycle that had plagued her family for so long. She sought therapy, delving into her past to heal the wounds that still haunted her. Her parents’ conflicts were deeply rooted, embedded in their own unresolved traumas. Understanding this did not excuse their actions, but it allowed her to find forgiveness within herself, set boundaries, and protect her child from the shadows of the past. As time went on, she experienced the joy of motherhood, creating a home filled with warmth and tenderness. Her son’s laughter brought a sense of fulfillment she had never known before. Together, they played, laughed, and explored life’s wonders, and she reveled in the precious moments that she could now give him. The scars of her childhood would never fade completely, but she carried them with grace, knowing that they had shaped her into the strong and compassionate woman she had become. Through her son’s eyes, she saw the world anew, with hope, love, and the promise of a future free from the darkness that once haunted her. As she held her little boy close, she whispered promises of love and protection, vowing to be the mother he deserved, the mother she had always longed for. And in those tender moments, as the laughter of innocence filled the air, she knew that the cycle had been broken—that the echo of her past would not haunt her son’s future.