Chapter 5

I ignored Verda's panicked attempts to stop me and walked straight up to Tamara. My voice stayed calm but firm, leaving no room for her to cut in. "Tamara, there's something I need to tell you."

Verda rushed out of the bathroom and grabbed my arm. Her face was pale as paper. "Arnold, don't say anything! Please, I'm begging you." Her voice shook, like she was about to break down.

I shook her hand off. My eyes stayed cold, and I didn't flinch.

"I have trauma from being around men, that's why I—" Verda tried to explain, but her voice got smaller and smaller until she just shut up under my stare.

Tamara looked stunned. Her eyes darted between us. "Trauma? What are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath and said slowly but firmly, "Verda and I have been married for three years, but we've always slept in separate rooms. She's still hung up on her first love, Martin. She's never had feelings for me. That night, I saw her with Martin with my own eyes—"

Before I could finish, Verda screamed to cut me off, "Arnold! You bastard! You're lying!"

I ignored her and continued, "Tamara, every word I'm saying is true. We've never even slept together."

I laid it all out—how Verda had been loyal to Martin all these years, and how she'd cheated on me.

Then, a loud slap cut me off.

Tamara pointed at Verda with a trembling finger, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. "You... you ungrateful thing! How could you?" Her voice shook with rage. "You've shamed our whole family!"

Verda covered her face, staring at Tamara in disbelief, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

I watched the scene, my emotions tangled.

I hadn't wanted things to blow up like this, but I couldn't live with the lies anymore.

"Dad, Mom..." I turned to my parents, who had been silent the whole time.

I took a breath and tried to keep my voice steady, though a faint shake slipped through. "Dad, Mom, about what's been going on at home—"

"What's been going on? What else could there be?" my dad snapped, slamming his hand on the table. Coffee splashed from his cup, leaving a dark stain on the table.

The veins on the back of his hand bulged. I could tell he was furious.

My mom sat quietly beside him, pale-faced, lips trembling but silent.

She clutched a tissue so hard that her knuckles went white, like she might tear it apart.

The air felt heavy, hard to breathe in.

Only Tamara's broken sobs echoed in the room, scraping at my already frayed nerves.

"Dad, Mom, this whole mess—" I tried again, but I didn't even know where to start.

All the hurt, anger, and disappointment in me swelled into helplessness. My throat was dry, like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn't get a word out.

My dad was so angry he could barely breathe, his chest rising and falling like he might pass out.

My mom quickly got up to steady him, patting his back gently. "Carl, don't work yourself up. It's not worth getting sick over—"

Watching them drained what little strength I had left.

I never wanted to worry them, but things had gone too far for me to deal with alone.

"Dad, Mom, I'm going home," I said, letting my shoulders drop as I turned to leave the suffocating room.

"Wait!" Tamara suddenly grabbed my arm. Her hand was ice-cold but strong.

I turned to face her. Her eyes were full of tears, her expression pure desperation. "Arnold, please, listen to me—" Her voice was hoarse, barely steady.

"I know Verda messed up, but she's still my daughter. For all the good times we've shared, please, forgive her this once." She clung to my arm, her hand trembling.

I could feel her grief and desperation in her cold grip.