Chapter 1: The first crack
Rain tapped softly against the rusted tin roof while the power flickered through the tiny house. The smell of damp clothes and burnt rice filled the air as Mary sat quietly in the corner, hugging her little brother close to her chest.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered gently, even though her own hands were shaking. “Papa will hear you.”
From the next room came the sound of glass shattering.
“You call this food?” her father shouted, his voice thunderous enough to silence the entire house.
Mary flinched instantly. Her younger sisters froze beside the wall, their small bodies stiff with fear. Their mother stood near the kitchen doorway, trembling as she held the edge of her saree tightly in her fists.
“I tried my best…” her mother said softly.
Her father slammed his hand against the table.
“Your best is never enough!”
The youngest child began to sob quietly.
Mary quickly covered his mouth, her heart racing. She had learned long ago that crying only made things worse.
Her father was known in church as a man of God—an evangelist whose prayers made people kneel and weep.
Every Sunday, people called him faithful. Kind. Holy.
But at home, the walls knew another version of him.
At night, the children never slept deeply.
Fear lived under their pillows like a silent monster waiting to wake. Every creak of the floorboards made Mary’s stomach twist. Every footstep outside the room sounded like danger.
"Mama…” Mary whispered later that night as they lay on a thin mattress together.
“Why is Papa always angry?”
Her mother stayed silent for a moment, staring into the darkness.
“Some people,” she whispered weakly, “carry storms inside them.”
Mary didn’t fully understand those words then.
She only knew that home never felt safe.
And little by little, she was learning how to hide fear behind silence.
