Chapter 4: shadow of goodbye

Chapter 4: Shadow of Goodbye

Velora was nine when she first heard the words that would shape her silence.

Her mother’s voice rang out like a verdict: “Velora, Oscar has scored higher marks again. He’s better than you.”

The sentence didn’t just sting it settled deep inside her, like a truth she hadn’t chosen but couldn’t escape. Oscar is better than me. Even Oscar, in his childish pride, wore the crown his mother had unknowingly placed on his head. He smirked, basking in victory, while Velora shrank into the shadow of defeat.

From that day forward, she stopped competing. Stopped hoping. Every time she tried whether it was schoolwork, chores, or drawing her mind whispered cruelly: If Oscar had done it, he would’ve done it better.

Without realizing it, her mother had dimmed the light of her firstborn daughter and handed that authority to her son. Velora’s innocence cracked. Her belief in herself quietly died.

She was sleeping peacefully when a sudden thud jolted her awake.

Velora sat up, the quilt sliding off her small frame. Another crash. Muffled voices. Anger rising like a storm she knew too well.

Her room was closed, safe but fear pulled her out of bed. She slipped into her slippers, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders, her wide eyes still hazy from sleep. But her eleven-year-old heart already knew: Papa and Mom are fighting again.

She tiptoed out. The TV lounge was empty. Her brothers’ room door was shut Oscar and Theo were asleep, untouched by the noise that had already stolen her rest.

The voices grew louder. Angrier.

She crept toward the kitchen. Just beyond it, the glass door opened to the outside hallway. Her hand trembled against the wall.

And then she saw.

Her feet froze. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened in terror.

Papa stood over Mom, a steel lid raised high. He struck her again and again. Mom tried to shield herself, arms trembling, bruises blooming across her shoulder like secrets the night could no longer hide.

The main door was wide open. Neighbors stood outside, frozen. No one moved. No one spoke.

Velora screamed.

A sharp, piercing sound that cut through the midnight air. She bolted outside, one slipper left behind. Her bare foot slapped against the pavement as she ran down the street, past silent houses—until she collapsed behind a tree.

She curled into herself, trembling. Her breath came in gasps. Her heart thudded like it wanted to escape her chest.

Her scream had drawn attention but all they saw was a child running.

Then footsteps. Slow. Steady. They stopped in front of her.

A voice, deep and melodic, broke through the quiet. “Velora.”

Her name, spoken so gently, wrapped around her like a blanket. She looked up, eyes watery, everything a haze. A man stood above her—tall, calm, green eyes shimmering in the moonlight. His beard framed a face of quiet strength. His chestnut hair tousled, his build solid, like someone carved from the earth itself.

He knelt beside her, extending a steady hand. “Come. Nothing happened. It’s okay,” he said.

And somehow, it was. His presence didn’t erase the terror but it softened the edges, just enough for her to breathe.

She grabbed his hand. Together, they walked back. Auntie her neighbor rushed forward and wrapped Velora in a trembling hug. “It’s okay, darling. Relax,” she whispered.

Velora’s cheeks burned. Shame crept in like a shadow. Everyone had seen her barefoot, crying, broken. She wanted to vanish.

Then she heard it.

“Velora, dear… why did you run?”

Her father’s voice. She turned and saw him at the door, worry etched across his face. Without thinking, she ran to him and threw her arms around his waist.

“Papa,” she whispered.

But she didn’t know what to say. What had she seen? How could she explain the ache in her chest?

She just cried.

And her father, silent and gentle, held her close. He wiped her tears, kissed her forehead, and tucked her into bed. It had been a long time since Papa had tucked her in. His arms around her, the quiet hum of his voice, the way he brushed her hair back it was all so familiar, so safe, that the chaos of the night began to fade.

Velora didn’t speak. She didn’t ask questions. She just melted into the warmth of his presence, curling under the blanket as if it could shield her from everything she’d seen.

And somehow, it worked.

Sleep came quickly, like a wave pulling her under. The fight, the screams, the bruises blurred into shadows. She forgot why she had run. She forgot the lid in his hand. She forgot the fear.

All that remained was Papa’s voice, soft and steady, and the feeling of being tucked in like nothing had ever gone wrong.

In the morning, Mom woke Velora like always. They got ready for school, ate breakfast, and waited for the van. When it arrived, Mom stood at the gate, waving goodbye with a soft smile.

Velora climbed in, but something tugged at her memory. She turned to look back last night flickering in her mind like a broken reel. The door was already closed. Mom had gone inside.

Oscar called out, “Come on, Velora!” She nodded and walked to the van, the memory slipping back into silence.

The week passed in a blur. Then came Saturday Mom’s day.

She oiled Velora’s hair and then Oscar’s, her fingers gentle and rhythmic. It was their weekend ritual: Saturday was for Mom. Hair oiling, mini pedicures, and movie night snuggled on the couch. Sunday was Papa’s day he cooked breakfast, took them to the park, made them laugh until their stomachs hurt.

That Saturday, the house was filled with laughter. Velora and Oscar tossed pillows across the room. Theo giggled from the corner while Mom massaged his head.

It was a beautiful sight. A moment untouched by anything dark.

Then the front door opened. Papa stepped in, and the kids ran to him, shouting, “PAPA! PAPA!”

He smiled, eyes lighting up as he looked toward Nora, who sat watching her children with quiet joy.

“Nora,” he said, “pack my bag. I’m going boating and fishing with my friends.”

Nora nodded. She knew it was his hobby. But Velora’s face fell. She tugged at his sleeve. “Papa, please… no.”

Fletcher laughed and kissed her forehead. “Next weekend, we’ll enjoy double,” he promised, handing cash to Velora. “Go shopping with Mom on Saturday. Same for Oscar and Theo.”

The kids cheered. But Nora didn’t. She watched her husband closely, her smile fading.

Why was he so happy?

Her sixth sense stirred soft, uncertain, but persistent.

She began packing Fletcher’s bag, folding his casual shirts and placing his fishing gear neatly inside. But Fletcher was rummaging through the closet, pulling out his best outfita crisp white suit.

She stared. “That’s not a boating outfit,” she said quietly.

Fletcher laughed, tugged playfully at her cheek. “We’ll be partying too,” he winked.

For a moment, Nora melted. It felt like the old days. She whispered to herself, “If Sandy hadn’t come between us, our life would’ve been full of love… normal.”

Fletcher stood in front of the mirror, whistling as he styled his hair. He wore an expensive watch, a fresh haircut, and sprayed himself with luxury cologne.

Nora’s heart skipped. “Where are you really going?” she asked, voice low but firm.

Fletcher arched an eyebrow. “My friends are waiting,” he said sharply.

She looked him up and down. “This isn’t how you dress for boating,” she said. “It’s Sandy, isn’t it?”

His voice rose. “Will you stop it, please! There is no woman named Sandy in my life!”

A sarcastic smile curled on Nora’s lips. “Oh really? Then swear on Velora—your most beloved child—that there’s no Sandy, no other woman.”

His eyes darkened. He walked toward Velora, who was playing with Oscar and Theo.

He placed his hand gently on her head. “I swear on Velora,” he said, voice steady, “I have no other woman in my life. No Sandy. No one else.”

Velora froze. A chill ran down her spine. For the first time, she looked at her father with disbelief.

Nora stood still. Her heart didn’t believe the words.

And in that silence, something sacred cracked

And the universe sighed.

It saw a mother folding shirts for the last time,