FRACTURED BONDS

I stared at the old, worn out photo in my hand, the creases and tears a testament to the countless times I'd folded and unfolded it over the years. It was a picture of my family, taken on a sunny summer day when I was just a child. My parents were smiling, their arms wrapped around me and my younger brother. We were happy or so it seemed.

But that was before the fights, the screams and the tears. Before the silence that grew thicker than the walls that separated us. My parents' marriage was a fragile thing, held together by threads of resentment and obligation. And I was caught in the middle, a pawn in their game of hurt and anger.

As I grew older, the fractures in our bond deepened. My parents' arguments became more frequent, their words sharper and more hurtful. I learned to navigate the minefield of their emotions, to avoid triggers and tiptoe around their fragile egos. But it was exhausting and I began to feel like I was losing myself in the process.

Because I could not take the fact that my family is divided into uncomfortable pieces but these is what I carry on my shoulders .the pain the dramatized thought of my family. I remember the day it all fell apart. My parents had been fighting for hours, their voices echoing through the halls of our home. I was hiding in my room, trying to escape the chaos, when I heard my mother's sobs. I crept out of my room and found her curled up on the couch, her body shaking with grief.

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay. But I didn't know how. I didn't know how to fix the fractures in our bond or how to heal the wounds that had been inflicted. So I just stood there, frozen in uncertainty, as my mother cried herself to sleep while I warlord in heart pain ,in my heart I pray for all that to stop

That moment marked the beginning of the end. My parents' marriage continued to deteriorate, until finally, they decided to go their separate ways. The divorce was a messy one, with both sides hurling accusations and recriminations.

I was caught in the middle, forced to navigate the treacherous waters of their conflict. It was a painful and difficult time, but it also taught me a valuable lesson: that some bonds are too fractured to repair and that sometimes, the hardest but most necessary thing to do is to let go.

The photo in my hand was a reminder of the family I once knew of the bonds that had once held us together. But it was also a reminder that some fractures are too deep to repair, and that sometimes, the best thing to do is to move on,by embarrassing the reality I saw my self in dropping the thinks and hart trauma behind focusing on the important things in my future plan myself to be able to fit the society standard I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace wash over me and I look at the photo one last time, and then I let it go, watching as it drifted to the ground.

As I walked away, I felt a sense of closure, of finally being able to let go of the past. It was a fragile, tentative feeling but it was also a hopeful one. Maybe, just maybe, I could start to heal, to rebuild the bonds that had been fractured and to create new ones that would be stronger and resilient.