ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs

7.Abuse

Natasha's POV

As we arrived home, I parked the car and we both stepped out in silence. My dad wordlessly made his way inside, leaving me to follow behind. As I entered the house, I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly lunchtime. Without hesitation, I headed straight for the kitchen, my mind already set on preparing a meal for us.

Recalling that I had prepped some ingredients before leaving for the hospital, I swiftly gathered them from the fridge and pantry. The familiar routine of cooking provided a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty that lingered in the air.

With focused determination, I set about chopping vegetables, heating up pots and pans, and orchestrating the symphony of flavors that would soon fill the kitchen. The rhythmic sounds of cooking served as a soothing melody, a welcome distraction from the weight of the day's events.

As the aroma of home-cooked food began to waft through the air, I couldn't help but hope that the simple act of sharing a meal together would offer a moment of solace for my dad and me, a fleeting respite from the challenges we faced.

After another silent breakfast, my dad left, leaving me to focus on household chores. I tackled them methodically, finding solace in productivity amidst the lingering silence. Each completed task brought a sense of accomplishment, a small victory amid the challenges we faced. And so, I continued on, finding strength in the routine of everyday life.

Time skip to evening

As the evening settled in around 7:30, I was engrossed in preparing study notes when a knock on my bedroom door interrupted my focus. Opening the door, I found my dad standing there, his expression unreadable as he gave me a cold stare.

"I need to talk," he stated tersely.

"Yes, dad, what is it about?" I responded, concern creeping into my voice.

He walked into the room and sat down on the bed, gesturing for me to join him with a look that brooked no argument. Sensing the gravity of the situation, I took a seat beside him, bracing myself for the conversation that lay ahead.

As my dad began to speak, his words cut through the air with a cold finality.

"I've fixed your marriage," he declared, his tone devoid of any warmth or empathy, as if he had made the decision without any regard for my feelings.

My eyes widened in shock, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to comprehend his words. Rising to my feet, I stared at him incredulously.

"I'm too young, Dad," I protested, the words tumbling out in disbelief.

"I don't care if you are young or old," he retorted sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "You have to get married, and that's final. No more arguments."

Desperation surged within me as I pleaded with him, my voice tinged with fear and uncertainty.

"Please, Papa, I don't want to. Please, I don't want to," I begged, my words falling on deaf ears as he glared at me angrily, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"You are saying no to me?" His voice, low and tinged with anger, sent a shiver down my spine, signaling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Feeling my breath grow heavy, I instinctively took a step back, trying to steady myself as his intense glare bore into me. With every ounce of courage I could muster, I met his gaze, my own eyes betraying a mix of fear and defiance.

As he unbuckled his belt and took it out, wrapping it around his hand like a whip, my heart sank, and a sense of dread washed over me. His glare bore into me with an intensity that sent chills down my spine.