Some fathers unleash their rage upon walls, their fists colliding with silence, while children watch, their voices swallowed by fear. The walls remain unbroken, but the children’s spirits fracture, creating a silent symphony of despair. Some mothers search for solace in the depths of long-necked bottles, their roles as nurturers drowned in a haze of liquid forgetfulness.

There are parents who embody a different kind of chaos—a hushed, insidious chaos that leaves invisible scars. These fathers wield their eyes as weapons, slicing through their children’s souls with the precision of a blade. They stand with twisted smiles, their words a cruel reminder that perfection is always just out of reach. Mothers whose sobriety brings no comfort use their gazes as instruments of judgement, cutting their children’s self-worth with every scrutinizing glance, envisioning happiness in lost pounds, superficial friends, makeup, and hairstyles.

In these homes, children walk the thin line between presence and absence, their hearts heavy with the weight of unfulfilled love. They exist within the confines of a house but feel the aching void of homelessness, searching for a place where they truly belong. And it is one of life’s ugliest situations; when a child is living within the confines of a house but feels homeless… 😔

©️ Beatriz Esmer