immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
Sleepless in Solitude: Did Any Of It Work?
Did Any Of It Work? Sleeplessness is a strange companion. While the world sleeps, I am awake, with my special daughter, I have 3). I have been a stay at home mum for so long that I can't even begin to contemplate returning to the rat race that is called 'work' — alarms, traffic jams, awkward office small talk — my brain freezes just thinking about it. My reason, you ask, maybe I'll share it in my next story. My husband is the only one working, and, although he has a well paid job, I can't help but feel like I should contribute something.
By Esther Oyewole6 months ago in Families
When Silence Fell Between Us . Content Warning. AI-Generated.
The first thing Leila noticed was that Daniel stopped asking how her day was. It didn’t happen overnight. At first, it was just once or twice—he’d come home late, kiss her on the cheek absently, and head straight to the couch. She told herself he was tired, stressed, distracted. Work had been rough. Life was just busy. But then it became a pattern. A new routine. Quiet replaced curiosity.
By FAWAD KOKO6 months ago in Families
We Celebrated Mom’s Birthday in the ER
Birthdays were always simple in our house. Growing up, my mom never asked for much—she was the kind of person who preferred handwritten cards over big gifts, home-cooked meals over fancy restaurants, and quality time over grand gestures. So when her 67th birthday came around, I planned exactly the kind of day I knew she’d love. Lemon cake (her favorite), some of her closest friends coming by in the evening, and a cozy dinner with her kids around the table.
By Fazal Hadi6 months ago in Families
The Taste of Lost Memories
The key to my grandfather’s crumbling greenhouse wasn’t metal, but wood – warped oak, smoothed by generations of touch. It felt alive in my palm, resisting the turn. With a groan that echoed through the overgrown jungle beyond the fogged glass, the heavy door swung inward. Dust motes, thick as snowfall, danced in the single shaft of weak afternoon sun piercing the grime-coated roof. The air hit me first – not decay, but density. Wet earth, ancient stone, ozone-like after a storm, and beneath it all, a dizzying kaleidoscope of scents: sharp peppermint, burnt sugar, something like old parchment, and the faint, unsettling tang of copper.
By Abdul Hai Habibi6 months ago in Families
A bridge made a hope
I say this without doubt and without regret: life cannot exist without fear, love, trial, betrayal, hope, and faith. At some point, all of these gathered and closed around my small life like strands twisted into one rope. There were days I asked, “Can I bear this?” And yet, God kept sending new circumstances—difficult ones, yes, but each something I was called to face with dignity. Some days my strength drained away; my hands fell uselessly to my sides and I felt hollow and alone, even with my husband, my children, and dear friends nearby. When that happened, I would retreat inward, into a deep private country of sadness. But the desire to live and to be happy never left me.
By Rebecca Kalen6 months ago in Families
The Day My Mother Broke Down
When I was a child, I thought my mother was invincible. She was the woman who could wake up early, cook breakfast, get all of us ready for school, go to work, come back and still smile while folding laundry. She seemed to have no limits. I believed she had all the answers, all the strength, all the calm in the world. I never thought to ask if she was tired. I never imagined she could be tired.
By Hassan Jan6 months ago in Families
The Little Light That Waited
In a forgotten corner of an old railway town, nestled between cracked sidewalks and aging lampposts, there stood a rusted traffic signal at the edge of an abandoned intersection. No cars passed through here anymore. The shops that once buzzed with life had long since boarded their windows. Grass broke through the cracks in the road. Yet, every evening, just as the sun slipped below the horizon, that old traffic light would flicker on — green, yellow, red — in perfect rhythm, casting a soft glow onto the pavement below.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Families
Letters Between the Lines. AI-Generated.
In a dusty corner of the Oakbridge University library, nestled between the aisles of forgotten literature and fading journals, Elara found her favorite escape. Table 12—close to the poetry section and far enough from the noisy study groups—was where she spent her afternoons buried in books and scribbling thoughts in her worn leather journal.
By The 9x Fawdi6 months ago in Families
