Secrets (A dream)

That day, I felt very weak. How I got home, I don't know.

The echoes of that tumultuous night lingered in my mind as I stumbled through the front door. The air in the house felt thick with tension, each step resonating with the weight of unspoken truths.

Mother: "Anita, what happened? Why do you look so shaken?"

I struggled to find the right words, haunted by the memory of the mysterious figure and the choices that had led me to this moment.

Anita: "There was an ambush, armed men, and then this man... he appeared out of nowhere, and everything changed."

Angela, my ever-curious sister, leaned forward, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Angela: "Who was he? What did he say?"

Anita: "I don't know. He spoke about choices and consequences. He told me to give Dad a red card."

Mother exchanged a puzzled glance with Angela, uncertainty etched across their faces. In the midst of our collective confusion, the front door creaked open, and my father, oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded, stepped into view.

Father: "What's all this commotion?"

His eyes, initially bright with a smile, dimmed as they landed on my disheveled form.

Father: "Anita, what are you doing in my house?"

Anita: "Your house? Dad, I... I don't know where else to go. There was an attack, and this man—"

Father's expression hardened, a mask of skepticism settling over his features.

Father: "An attack? What kind of nonsense is this?"

My heart raced as I struggled to convey the surreal events of the night, the mysterious figure, and the enigmatic warning that had altered the course of my journey.

Anita: "Dad, he said I should give you a red card. I don't understand, but—"

Father's laughter, devoid of warmth, cut through my words like a knife.

Father: "A red card? Is this some sort of sick joke?"

His eyes, once dimmed with doubt, now gleamed with a cold understanding. The air grew heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, and I found myself trapped in a narrative that surpassed the limits of my comprehension.

Anita: "Dad, I'm not joking. This man... he knew you. He spoke with authority, and the way he handled those armed men—"

Father's interruption sliced through my attempt to unravel the mysteries of that night.

Father: "Handled them? Anita, you're weaving tales that belong in a fantasy novel. What's this nonsense about giving me a red card?"

Mother, Angela, and I stood suspended in a tableau of disbelief. The fractures in our family foundation deepened, and the chasm between truth and deception widened. Father, wearing a facade of indifference, had no intention of acknowledging the enigmatic figure or the ominous warning.

Anita: "I don't know how to explain it, Dad. But he said choices have consequences, and—"

Father waved off my words with a dismissive gesture.

Father: "Enough! I won't entertain these absurdities. Get yourself together, Anita. You're embarrassing us with these wild stories."

In that moment, it became apparent that my father's laughter had been a facade, a calculated performance to conceal a deeper understanding of the events that unfolded. His dismissal fueled a sense of isolation, leaving me to grapple with the reality that the man who should protect me was complicit in a narrative I couldn't comprehend.

Anita: "Dad, I'm not making this up. There's something—"

Father: "Save it for your imagination, Anita. We have more important matters to attend to."

With that, he turned on his heel, retreating into his room.

I wondered why my father was acting suspiciously.

…..

My mother took me, Angela and Melody to my room. After I was cleaned up, I decided to come out clean, and I told my mother about the dream I had.

"That's no mere dream. I have been waiting to tell you guys, there is a secret.

You might be wondering why your father is always trying to hide you from the world. Once I tell you this story, you will know why, and you will be able to understand your dream.