As far as I remember, our house was always quiet. At a young age, I knew our house was larger and more respectable than the normal ones hence I used to think that it was the reason why it's always quiet. Silently, I felt proud that I was born into a such family.
Our dinner table was also quiet, you could only hear the tablewares—spoon, and fork screeching against the plates and bowls. I felt somewhat dignified every time we ate dinner as a family.
I hadn't seen my parents smile even once, or I had but it was a long time ago that I could barely remember what they looked like when my parents beamed at each other. I knew I saw their smiles when my little sister came into the world, but at that time, I was only three years old. I only knew it but I couldn't remember it. How could I recall such things as *that* when I was so young?
When we siblings entered elementary school. Every weekday my parents were working hence, the only person left inside our respectable house was me, my little sister, and the house caretaker. But she always insisted that babysitting was outside of her job, so at a young age, I learned how to stand on my own feet and do everything I needed myself. Eventually, she helped us even though she was half against it.
In the second year of my junior high school, I barely met our parents at home. It seemed that their work took even the weekends, but I knew I had to behave myself properly even though I wanted their attention, or else I might disgrace our family. Thinking about it, it was just my mindset as a child and no one forced me to be obedient other than me.
One day as I was on my way back to our respectable house, I saw my father's car parked nearby the bookstore. I knew it was his because it still had the sticker that my little sister placed years ago. It seemed he still hadn't noticed it yet. Then the door opened and he stood outside. That was the first time I saw my father since three months ago. I considered walking steadily and passed his car without calling him since I had no idea how to approach him outside our respectable house.
Then what happened next surprised me.
For the first time in my second year of being a junior high student, for the first time in my fourteen years of living, I witnessed my father's smile. It almost made my knees weak and fell to the ground. After I collected myself together, I had the urge to call him but that urge suddenly swapped by confusion. A woman came out from the house, completely opposite from ours, next to the bookstore, alongside her was a little child holding her hands. She met my father with an embrace and led him inside the house. That moment all emotions fled into me like waterfalls—confusion, jealousy, anger, and most of all, I felt betrayed. Betrayed by myself.
The respectable house that I was always proud of, was actually nothing but a lie, it was all inside my head. I didn't storm inside their house, instead, I turned my heel and left the place without doing anything.
As I came back home, I saw my little sister innocently reading her books. Did my little sister think this house as a respectable one too? Thoughts suddenly rushed into my mind and before I knew it, I hugged her and swore to myself, I won't let my sister feel the thing that I feel that moment. The sensation of feeling betrayed, the heaviness inside my chest, the burden on my shoulders, the regret clinging on my back, the warm feeling gushing from my eyes, and the responsibilities that I had to carry until I grow old. I wanted my sister to live her life to the fullest and for that to happen, I would protect her until she became strong and could stand on her own.