Chapter 7 Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Chapter 7


Sandra POV

I sat on the bed, phone in my hand. My heart was beating fast. For weeks I had told myself I would not do it. I had promised myself that I would not call him.

But tonight, the silence was too heavy. My chest hurt from holding it in.

“I can’t keep quiet anymore,” I whispered. “I must hear his voice.”

I pressed my father’s number. My thumb shook as I tapped the screen. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

I pressed it again. My lips trembled. I whispered, “Please, Papa. Pick up.”

It rang again. Nothing.

The call ended.

I stared at the black screen. My eyes filled with tears.
“He didn’t pick up. He didn’t even try.”

I dropped the phone on the bed. My hands covered my face.
“He must be angry,” I muttered to myself. “Of course, he is angry. I left without a word. I ran from him. Why would he pick up?”

I stood up, pacing the room. My voice came out broken.
“Papa, I wanted to call so many times. But I was scared. Now I’m here, and you won’t even listen.”

The silence was heavy. It pressed into me. The silence made my chest feel really hard and my feet stuck to the ground. I hated this more than anything put together.

I sat back down, hugging my knees. Memories pulled me back. Not to my father. Not to my brothers. But to my mother.

I closed my eyes, and I saw her face.

Her smile. Her soft hands. Her gentle voice calling my name.

“Sandra,” she used to say, “come here, my little one.”

I whispered aloud, “Mama…”

The memory was so strong it felt real. I could almost hear her laugh again.

But then, like a shadow, the memory of losing her came.

I remembered the night everything broke.

I was only a child. The house was too quiet. My father had not spoken a word to us that day. My brothers whispered in corners. I walked down the long hall, searching.

I opened the door to her room. She was lying there, too still. Too quiet.

I remembered crying out, “Mama? Wake up, Mama!”

She didn’t move. She just lay there eyes close.

I ran to her bed, shaking her arm. But her hand was cold. I didn’t understand it then, but I knew she was gone.

I whispered again, even now as an adult, “Wake up, Mama. Please.”

Tears slid down my eye. My emotions playing me hard this time.

That night, I had screamed until my father came. He stood by the door, his face hard, but his eyes were red.

I cried, “Papa, do something! Help her!”

But he didn’t move. He just whispered, “She’s gone, Sandra.”

“No!” I had shouted back. “She can’t be gone!”

I remembered pounding my small fists against his chest, screaming for him to save her. But he only held me tight, and I cried until I couldn’t breathe.

That was the night I lost my mother. And that was the night my father’s heart grew harder.

I wiped my tears now, in the present, and whispered to myself.

“Maybe that’s why he won’t answer me. Maybe he still blames me somehow. Maybe every time he looks at me, he remembers Mama’s death.”

I shook my head. “No, Sandra. Don’t think like that. He loved her too. He just… he couldn’t save her.”

I took a deep breath. “But still… he should answer me. I am his daughter. No matter what I did.”

I picked up the phone again, staring at his number. My thumb hovered over the screen.

“Should I try again?” I asked myself aloud.

The phone felt heavy in my hand.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Talking helped me feel less alone.

“Papa, if you could hear me right now, I’d tell you I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I know I hurt all of them. But I miss you.”

I paused, then whispered, “I miss Mama too. Every day.”

The memories rolled on.

I remembered how Mama used to braid my hair while telling me stories.

“Once upon a time,” she would say, “there was a girl who wanted to fly.”

I had always laughed and said, “Like me?”

“Yes,” Mama would reply, tapping my nose. “Exactly like you.”

And I would tell her, “Then I’ll grow wings one day.”

She would smile and say, “I believe you will.”

I smiled through my tears now. “Mama, I tried to fly. I left. But maybe I fell instead.”

The room felt too small for my thoughts. I stood again, walking back and forth, still speaking.

“Papa, I wanted to be free. That’s why I left. But freedom feels lonely when your father won’t answer your call.”

I sat by the window and pressed my forehead against the glass. The night light stretched out above me. The stars looked like tiny eyes, watching me.

I whispered, “Mama, are you up there? Do you see me? Do you know how much I miss you?”

The stars did not answer, but I kept talking to it. My emotions felt more alive than usual. My heart heavy by the second.

“If you were here, you’d tell Papa to pick up the phone. You’d make him listen to me.”

I gave a weak laugh. “You were the only one who could calm him down.”

My chest ached. “Mama, he won’t pick up. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The memory of her soft lullaby came to me. She used to sing when I couldn’t sleep. I hummed it now, rocking gently.

“Sleep, my little star…” I sang quietly. My voice cracked.

Then I stopped, covering my mouth as the sobs came harder.

I looked down at my phone again. My reflection showed in the black screen. My eyes were swollen.

I told myself, “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe if I try tomorrow, he will pick up.”

But another voice inside me whispered, “What if he never does?”

I shut my eyes tight. “No. He will. He has to.”

I curled up on the bed, holding the phone close to my chest like a lifeline.

“Papa, please,” I whispered. “I need you. Just answer me once.”

The night went on, but I couldn’t sleep.

The night was long. I held my phone close to my chest, but no sound came from it. No call back. No message. Nothing.

I whispered into the dark, “Papa, why won’t you speak to me?”

My voice shook, but I kept talking. It made the silence less scary.

“I know you are angry. I know I left without telling you. But I am still your daughter. I am still Sandra.”

Tears filled my eyes again. “Don’t you miss me even a little?”

The room gave no answer.

I lay down and closed my eyes. That was when another memory came. Not of the night Mama died, but of the morning after.

I remembered waking up in my little bed. My pillow was wet from crying. When I opened my eyes, my father was sitting at the edge of my bed. His big hand was holding mine.

He said, “Sandra, listen to me. You are strong. You must not cry too much. Mama would not want that.”

I had whispered back, “But I can’t stop. I want her.”

His face had broken then. His voice had cracked. “I want her too.”

That was the first time I ever saw my father cry. Only once. Never again.

I opened my eyes now and stared at the ceiling.

“Papa, maybe that’s why you don’t answer my call. Maybe you think if you talk to me, you will cry again.”

I laughed weakly. “But what’s wrong with crying? Don’t you know I cry for you too?”

I hugged my pillow tight. “I didn’t leave because I hated you. I left because I was scared of living the same life forever. You were too hard. Too strict. I wanted something else.”

I closed my eyes again, and I began to imagine him here. Sitting in the chair near my bed, just like that morning when I was small.

I whispered into the empty room, “Papa, are you listening? Can you hear me now?”

In my mind, he answered. His deep voice filled the air.
“Why are you calling me now, Sandra? After all this time?”

I sat up and answered like he was really there. “Because I miss you. Because I want you back in my life.”

His voice was sharp. “You broke your promise. You swore you would stay with the family. Then you left without a word.”

I shook my head quickly. “I had to! I was drowning in your rules. I was losing myself.”

His voice was heavy. “And you think running away made you stronger?”

I whispered, “No… but it made me free.”

The room was still, but I kept the picture in my mind. I wanted to hear him. I wanted to answer him.

“Papa, please,” I said softly. “Don’t stay angry forever. I am still your child.”

The imagined voice of my father faded. And then another voice came. Mama’s voice.

She was soft, gentle, like music. “Sandra, don’t cry. I am with you, even if you can’t see me.”

I gasped. My lips trembled. “Mama? Oh Mama, I need you so much.”

Her voice was like a warm hand on my cheek. “You are stronger than you know. You carry my heart inside you.”

I shook my head. “No, Mama. I feel weak. I feel lost.”

Her voice answered, “You are not lost. You chose love. That is never weakness.”

I sobbed quietly. “But Papa hates me for it. He won’t answer my call.”

Her voice was calm. “He does not hate you. He hurts. He lost me, and now he feels like he lost you too. But deep down, he still loves you.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, crying harder. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes,” her voice whispered. “A father’s love never dies. One day, he will answer. One day, he will speak to you again.”

I lay there, breathing slow, pretending Mama was holding me.

“Mama,” I whispered, “when you left, the whole house turned cold. Papa became stone. My brothers became soldiers. I couldn’t stay in that place anymore.”

I could almost hear her answer. “I know. That is why you left. Because you are not stone. You are light. You could not survive in shadows forever.”

I smiled weakly through my tears. “I tried to fly, Mama. Just like in your story. But sometimes I feel like I fell instead.”

Her voice was kind. “Even birds fall, Sandra. But they rise again. You will rise too.”

The memory faded, and I was left alone in my room again. But my heart felt a little lighter.

I picked up the phone once more, staring at my father’s number. My thumb shook.

“Should I try again?” I asked myself out loud.

I pressed it. The phone rang. My heart pounded hard.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

Still no answer.

I laughed bitterly, wiping my eyes. “Of course. Why would tonight be different?”

I set the phone down. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. One day he will answer.”

I went back to the window. The stars still filled the sky. I whispered, “Mama, if you can hear me, tell Papa I still love him. Tell him I’m waiting.”

The stars blinked silently.

“Papa,” I said softly, “I know you won’t pick up tonight. But I’ll keep calling. Because I am your daughter, and I don’t give up easily.”

I leaned my head against the glass and closed my eyes.

“I lost Mama. I don’t want to lose you too.”

The night passed slowly, but my heart had already chosen. I would keep trying. I would not stop until I heard his voice again.

By the time the first light of morning came, I was still awake. My eyes were tired, but my chest felt stronger.

I whispered, “He must be angry. But angry or not, I will rea
ch him. I will not let him forget me.”

I held the phone close and smiled faintly. “One day, he will answer. And when he does, I will tell him everything.”

I closed my eyes, whispering one last word before sleep finally came.

“Mama, guide me. Papa, wait for me.”