Chapter 67

Chapter 67


Ivan’s Point of View

"Stop meddling in my life, Jane! You were just my wife! I’ll do what I want in my company—because it’s mine!" Dad’s voice boomed through the walls. I was standing right outside my parents’ room, listening. They were fighting again.

"But Iverson! What you’re doing isn’t right! So many people will lose their jobs because of your plan. For once—please, think about your employees!" Mommy shouted back.
She never yells. She's always calm and sweet when I'm around. But now… she was crying out in frustration.

"You know what, Jane? I don’t know why you’re reacting like this! Maybe that loudmouth Galvin reported me to you again, huh?! I was wondering earlier how you found out about my plan. Now I remember—you’ve got ears inside the company. That’s Galvin, right? Your man. And don’t tell me he still is!"

Dad’s voice trembled with restraint, but his anger was loud and clear. I hugged my teddy bear tighter. My chest felt tight from fear.

Then—a loud slap.

"How dare you slap me, Jane!" Daddy's voice grew even louder.

"Don’t you dare accuse me of something I didn’t do! Don’t you dare compare me to yourself, Ivo! I never cheated on you! You were the one who had the affair—not me!" Mommy's voice cracked. She sounded like she was crying now.

"Don’t you talk about Karel like that! She’s cleaner than you, Jane!"

Silence.

I could hear Mommy sobbing inside. My heart ached. She didn’t deserve to cry like that. She was kind—always kind. She deserved to be happy.

It was almost my 8th birthday. Tomorrow. And still, my parents were yelling at each other. I may be young, but I understood most of what they were saying. I read books all the time. I studied hard. I could understand adults more than they thought I could.

"You really love her that much, huh? Really, Ivo?" Mommy asked, her voice broken.

"Yes, Jane! And I swear that won’t change. I even regret agreeing to our engagement back then!"

"But she's dead, Ivo! Why is she still the one you love?!"

"You just don’t get it, Jane. You never truly loved someone the way I loved her. You don’t know what it feels like… to love someone that deeply."

Another long silence.

I felt like crying, but I didn’t. Mommy once told me, “No matter how painful things get, don’t waste your time crying. Pray instead. Smile, and make your loved ones happy.” She said tears won’t solve anything—but love and prayer might.

Suddenly, the door opened.

I quickly backed away. Mommy stepped out. Her eyes were red and swollen, but when she saw me, she froze.

"Ivan!" she gasped. She wiped her tears quickly, then knelt so we were eye level. "You’re still here? Did you hear anything?" she asked gently, though I could see fear in her eyes.

I didn’t want to lie. So I nodded.

Mommy closed her eyes tightly. Then she turned and glanced back at the room. I followed her gaze and saw Daddy staring at her, then at me. His eyes widened in surprise.

Mommy sniffled, stood up, and shut the door. She turned back to me and forced a smile.

"Come on, baby. Let’s go to your room. Don’t think about what you just heard, okay?" Her voice turned soft again—like a lullaby.

I didn’t say anything. I just held her hand. We walked away from their room in silence.

Her hand felt cold. That’s how I knew—she was only pretending to be okay.

\---

When we got to my room, Mommy turned on the lights and started fixing my bed. She even picked up my toys scattered on the floor and placed them in their container.

Then she sat on the bed and smiled at me.
"Come here, Ivan. Let’s pray before you sleep," she said softly.

I walked over and sat next to her. Her smile now looked real—her eyes were twinkling again. That meant she was happy. At least, for now.

"Close your eyes and fold your hands. Feel the presence of the Lord, anak…" she whispered.

I smiled faintly and obeyed.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit... Mommy started her prayer aloud while I kept mine in silence.

\---

Dear Lord God,
Please make Mommy happy. She deserves it. She shouldn’t have to cry. She’s the kindest person I know.

And also, please help Daddy. Even though he treats me like I don’t exist… I still want what’s best for him. Please help him change.

I hope one day I’ll see them smile at each other again. I want to see them love each other like real parents do.

Also—thank you for giving me another year of life. Tomorrow’s my birthday, and I hope Dad comes this time. That would be the best gift ever.

Thank you, Lord, for everything. For Mommy, for the food, for the love. Even with my flaws, thank you for not leaving me.

Amen.

I made the sign of the cross before opening my eyes. Mommy was already stroking my hair gently.

"Good boy, Ivan," she whispered, laughing weakly. "You’re really growing up. Maybe tomorrow or the next day you’ll be dating someone!"

I frowned.
"Mom, I’m only turning eight. I won’t be dating anyone yet."

She giggled. "Maybe not, but you think so maturely already. Sometimes, it scares me—you’re so much like your dad. The way you act, your habits… even the way you look."

My lips parted.
"Mom… Dad and I are different. I love you. He… doesn’t."
I couldn’t finish the sentence. I just looked away.

Mom gave a humorless smirk. "I shouldn’t have said that. You're too young to be involved in adult problems..."

I looked at her.
"Mom… I promise I won’t be like Dad. When I get married, I’ll love my wife and never cheat on her. I’ll make sure God stays in the center of our relationship."

Mom’s eyes widened.
"Ivan!" she laughed, clearly surprised. "You’re talking about marriage already? What am I going to do with you?" She pinched my nose gently.

"Well, I started school at two, remember? Don’t be surprised if I already think this way," I said, shrugging.

She laughed. "Oh, right. That’s my fault! I wanted you to learn everything early."
Then her expression turned serious.
"But really—promise me you won’t be like your father. Love your future wife the way you respect me. That’s all I ask."

I nodded.
"I promise, Mommy. I want my future family to stay close to God."

She smiled and ruffled my hair again.
"Good boy. I like that. But for now, you’re still seven. And to build that future, you need to get some sleep—and eat a lot of rice!" she teased with a laugh.

\---

The next day was my birthday.

Mommy prepared a big party. My classmates, teachers, and relatives were all there. She had cooked all my favorite food—spaghetti, pizza, and even an eight-layer cake. The theme was based on my favorite book series. It was all perfect.

But something was missing.

Dad wasn’t there.

Mommy told me he had business problems. But I didn’t believe her. In all my eight years, he never attended a single birthday. He never greeted me—not once. He always sent gifts… but I didn’t want those. I just wanted him to show up. I just wanted his presence.

Once, he even told me I wasn’t his son. He slapped me.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I never was his son—not in his eyes.

I couldn’t take the disappointment anymore. I left the house without telling Mommy where I was going. Truth is—I didn’t even know. I just kept running.

Running away from the house.

From the pain.

From the truth.

My feet ached, so I stopped, catching my breath, leaning forward with my hands on my knees. I looked around and saw a black gate to my right.

It was the playground—the one where Mommy and I used to play.

I forced myself to walk, then broke into a run again. I needed that place now more than ever.

As I entered, I noticed the ground was muddy. My shoes sank slightly with every step. Mommy would definitely scold me later.

But I didn’t care.

I just wanted the sadness to go away.