Dear Diary,
Looking back on those years as a young man in Slovakia, I remember how everything began in our panelák apartment block in Košice. The raised voices from behind one of the doors echoed through the whole stairwell that evening. “What’s wrong with you this time? How much more of this can I take? I’ve had enough!” came my mother Anna’s frustrated tone, loud enough for everyone to hear.
At that moment my sister Viera and I were heading up the stairs. We stopped dead in our tracks as if we had walked into something solid. Our eyes met briefly and no words passed between us. We both knew without speaking that it was time to go. We let out a shared sigh, turned around together and walked quietly away from the building. Clearly we had no plans to return home that night.
Who would want to spend an evening listening to endless parental arguments? Certainly not us. We marched straight toward the next entrance where our grandmother Katarína Kováčová lived. Her place had become our real refuge lately. What used to be weekend visits had turned into almost nightly stays.
The atmosphere back at our parents’ had grown completely unbearable. Michal and Anna seemed to forget everything else and shouted at each other nonstop. Worst of all, they pulled us into their fights more and more often.
Sometimes Anna would spin toward her daughter and demand, “Tell me I’m right. You agree with me, don’t you?”
Other times Michal would turn to me before any answer came, “No, I’m the one who’s correct here. Back me up!”
Viera and I stayed silent. We had no interest in picking sides or becoming part of the endless conflict. We simply wanted quiet, peace and warmth, the things we found with our grandmother.
These scenes repeated daily like a tune stuck on repeat that no one could stop. We had learned to spot the signs early from a certain tone, sharp movements or the way our parents glanced at each other. Those were the signals to leave. Who would enjoy living under constant tension where any talk could explode into a loud fight in seconds?
We could never figure out what had triggered the whole mess. Our family had never been perfect like the ones in ads, yet before this our parents knew how to work things out. Arguments happened of course, but they ended in calm talks instead of shouting. Anna might frown and Michal might raise his voice a little, but within half an hour everything was settled. We would all sit at the table again, drink tea and plan the weekend.
Roughly two years earlier everything shifted. It felt as if someone had quietly swapped our old parents for different ones who now found reasons to argue over the smallest things. A dirty cup left on the table became a long lecture on carelessness and disrespect. A shirt hung on the wrong hook turned into sarcastic comments about household order. A teaspoon forgotten in the sink was treated like a near crime deserving a drawn-out investigation.
One evening Viera sat in our grandmother’s kitchen stirring her tea without thinking. She stayed quiet for a long time watching the amber swirls in the cup, then asked with bitterness, “How did it come to this, grandmother? Everything changed after their shared holiday. What happened there?”
Katarína Kováčová paused, set her cup on the saucer and gently ran her hand over Viera’s. She only guessed at the reasons for the family breakdown herself and those guesses brought her no joy.
“Adults will sort it out themselves,” she answered softly, trying to sound sure. “Sometimes people need time to figure out the best way forward.”
Viera nodded but her eyes showed doubt. She knew our grandmother was holding something back yet she did not push. What would be the point? As long as we were seen as children nothing serious would be shared with us.
“We can’t handle the shouting anymore,” I burst out with despair in my voice. “We can’t even do homework properly or read a book in peace. I don’t remember the last time we all sat at one table together. If it’s so hard for them to be together let them divorce and everyone will have it easier!”
The words came out on their own but they held the truth of recent months. I spoke for both of us because I knew my sister felt the same. Our home had lacked silence for ages. Either Anna would snap something or Michal would answer with irritation and another fight would start with nowhere to hide.
“Matúš,” our grandmother said in confusion. She set aside her knitting, looked at me carefully and slowly shook her head. “Have you thought about what happens if they divorce? You two would have to be split up. Are you ready to live apart from Viera?”
“We’ll live with you,” Viera said right away, looking at her with pleading eyes. “We already spend almost all our time here anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”
Katarína Kováčová went still. She understood our feelings and saw how worn down we were from the nonstop arguments. On one hand we would be safe with her in a calm and friendly setting where homework could happen without yelling, books could be read in silence and we could feel protected. She loved us deeply and was ready to surround us with care.
On the other hand what about our parents? How would we explain that we no longer wanted to live at home? Would they agree to such an arrangement? And if they did how would it affect their bond with us? Could the end result be a complete break in relations?
“Let’s not rush,” she said with a deep breath. “I am always happy to have you here, you know that. But first let’s try talking with your mother and father. Maybe together we can find a way to fix things.”
“Don’t worry, we will speak with them ourselves,” Viera stated confidently with a happy smile. Our grandmother had nearly agreed and that mattered most. “Just don’t refuse us please. We really can’t stay there anymore. It will be better for them apart otherwise they might actually hurt each other one day. I saw father raise his hand toward mother yesterday. He didn’t hit her, honestly. But he was close.”
Viera fell quiet remembering that awful moment. She had gone into the kitchen for a glass of water and frozen in the doorway. Our father stood half-turned toward our mother with his hand suddenly lifted and she instinctively ducked. Seconds later he lowered it but that moment stretched into forever for her.
“Grandmother agree,” I urged supporting my sister. I stepped closer and took her hand as if afraid she might change her mind. “We will help you with everything around the house. Just don’t send us back there. They pay us no attention at all. Yesterday I went to father and told him about the parent meeting. You know what he said? Go ask your mother. So I did. Guess what mother told me?”
“Go ask your father?” Katarína Kováčová asked quietly already knowing the answer.
“Exactly,” I replied with a bitter laugh. “Then they argued for two more hours about who would go. They sat in separate rooms shouting at each other across the hallway while I just stood there listening.”
“I asked them to sign a permission slip for a museum trip,” Viera added lowering her eyes. Her fingers nervously twisted the edge of her sleeve. “Now I am the only one in class who won’t go. Neither of them signed the paper. Instead they started fighting again. Mother shouted that it was father’s duty and father insisted mother should handle school matters.”
Our grandmother watched us and saw how exhausted we were. The tiredness in our eyes was not childish. It had built up over months where every day mirrored the last, where family warmth had been replaced by constant fights and support by indifference.
“It is always like this,” I sighed letting my shoulders drop. My voice sounded tired as if I had repeated it hundreds of times. “Any request from us turns into a reason for a new argument. We do not even want to go home anymore. A couple of days ago we came back at eleven at night and do you think we got scolded? No. They just sent us to bed without asking where we had been. Later they spent a long time blaming each other for poor upbringing.”
We sighed in unison again. In recent months we had seriously considered that our parents’ divorce was the only way out. Yet the prospect of being separated from each other terrified us. One of us would stay with mother, the other with father and our usual closeness would shrink to rare weekend visits.
We weighed options whispering about them at night when alone in our room. Once I jokingly suggested running away from home, just grabbing backpacks and heading wherever. I said it with a smile to lighten the mood but Viera took the idea seriously. Her eyes lit up for a second then she said quietly, “What if we really left? Even for a couple of days.” In that instant we both realized the family situation had become so unbearable that even the thought of running away no longer seemed crazy.
Then it hit us. Grandmother. Why not move in with her? The idea came to both of us at once as if we thought in harmony. Viera voiced it first. “Let’s ask grandmother if we can live with her. She definitely will not yell or shout. And we will not have to listen to these endless fights.” I picked it up right away. “Yes. She is kind and always supports us. Her apartment is big enough for us.”
We began picturing the new life in our minds. Calm breakfasts, a quiet spot for homework, evenings playing board games with our grandmother. No shouting, no accusations, no need to hide in our room to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. For the first time in a long while hope flickered in our hearts. Let our parents sort themselves out while we finally found peace. That was what Viera and I thought while imagining life with our grandmother.
Later we stood before our parents and said firmly, “Mother, father, we need to talk seriously.” We had waited until evening when both were home and walked into the living room with purpose. Viera held my hand tightly so it was easier to stay steady. “But first promise to hear us out completely before you give your opinion.”
Michal looked up from his phone surprised. Anna who had been arranging things on the couch straightened abruptly. Her face showed the expression of someone who thought we had said something unthinkable.
“This is all your upbringing,” she snorted crossing her arms. “The children are already setting conditions for us. As if we have to answer to them.”
“And who is talking,” the man flared up immediately setting the phone aside. “I am always at work trying to provide for the family. You were always with them. What did you teach them? Why are they ordering us around now?”
We glanced at each other. We had expected something like this, the talk sliding straight into the usual pattern of mutual accusations. But we could not back down.
“Enough,” Viera cried out almost in tears. She stepped forward trying to speak clearly and calmly even though everything inside her shook. “Matúš and I have thought about it and decided you need to divorce.”
The room went instantly quiet. Anna froze with her mouth half open and Michal slowly rose from the couch.
“Now that is news,” our mother’s voice turned threatening. “Viera you are still too young to tell adults how to live. And what else have you decided? Maybe you will divide the apartment for us too?”
“If you do not divorce we will go to the social services,” I said gripping my sister’s hand as if drawing strength from it. My voice sounded firm though inside I was not entirely sure I meant it. “Then father you could lose your job. Your company does not welcome scandals right? You said yourself that reputation is everything.”
“And you mother,” Viera continued looking straight into her eyes, “will lose the respect of the neighbors. They will not even speak to you. Everyone knows how you shout at each other and we can add details.”
“They are threatening us. Just look at them,” Anna finally forced out turning her gaze from one child to the other. “These are our children. How can you treat us this way?”
“We are not threatening,” I said quietly but with certainty. “We just want you to understand that living like this is impossible. We are tired. Tired of the shouting, of you not hearing us, of even simple requests turning into fights.”
“You will divorce and move apart and we will live with grandmother,” we finished together as if we had rehearsed it. “It will be better for everyone. Peace for us, no constant conflicts for you. We no longer want to be caught between you like between two fires.”
Our parents froze. For the first time in a long while they had no reply. Usually in talks like this they would start arguing right away, interrupting each other and assigning blame. Now both seemed speechless.
Their thirteen-year-old children were acting completely unexpectedly. Viera and I stood side by side holding hands and looked at them steadily without our usual shyness. We spoke about serious matters that the adults had tried not to think about.
The couple themselves had considered divorce more than once. But the same question always stopped them. With whom would the children stay? Separating twins seemed unthinkable. We were incredibly close, always did everything together and supported each other. Our parents could not imagine tearing one from the other, forcing us to live in different homes and meet only on weekends.
The option with grandmother had never occurred to them before. For some reason the idea had never crossed their minds, perhaps because both were too absorbed in their own grudges and mutual complaints. But now hearing our proposal Michal and Anna found themselves wondering. What if this was the solution? Grandmother loved us, her apartment was spacious and she was always glad to see us. Maybe this would truly resolve at least part of the problems.
“I will call my mother,” Michal finally said through gritted teeth. His voice sounded muffled as if the words came with difficulty. “If she agrees…”
He did not finish the sentence. Anna cut him off sharply and her voice carried a fatigue that surprised even her.
“Then we will finally stop tormenting each other. Call her. I will be happy not to see your face every day.”
Her words hung in the air. She had not wanted to be so sharp but years of accumulated hurts and disappointments made them slip out.
“And I will be glad too,” Michal replied trying to hide the pain her words caused behind irony.
There was no anger in his tone, only a bitter smile at what their family life had become. He pulled out his phone and slowly dialed his mother’s number. While the rings sounded both spouses looked in different directions avoiding each other’s eyes. They did not yet know where this talk would lead but they understood the point of no return might already have been crossed.
That day our Kováč family made a fateful decision. It all started with a long conversation between Michal and his mother. Katarína Kováčová listened carefully without interrupting and only asked clarifying questions now and then.
When Michal finally laid everything out there was a pause. Our grandmother took a deep breath and said, “If you both understand this will be better for the children I agree. They will be safe here and I will take care of them.”
By evening the couple met in the kitchen for the first time in a long while without shouting or mutual reproaches. They sat across from each other and began discussing details. Gradually step by step they reached one conclusion. Divorce was the only reasonable way out. The children would move to grandmother and the parents would send her money each month in euros for their support.
At the same time no one planned to abandon the children to fate. Both father and mother swore they would visit on weekends, though on different days to keep their own contact minimal.
“I will come Saturday morning to take them for a walk and you on Sunday,” the man said wearily. His still wife nodded in agreement. “That will be simpler. The main thing is the children should not feel abandoned.”
Their main goal was to reduce communication to a minimum and thereby avoid new conflicts. They agreed not to discuss each other in front of us, not to try pulling us to one side and not to settle scores in our presence.
“We are still their parents,” Michal said. “And we should remain so even if we are no longer spouses.”
As time showed the decision proved ideal. We could finally relax and begin living like ordinary teenagers. Viera signed up for an art circle, something she had long dreamed of but had lacked time for because of constant worries. I started going to football and found new friends on the team. We began spending time together again, walking through the city, going to the cinema and talking about school without fear that another fight would erupt at any moment.
Stability returned to our studies too. Now we had a quiet place for work with no one distracting us with shouts and arguments. Homework got done calmly without nerves and this quickly showed in our grades. Teachers noticed the change. “You have become so attentive, kids. Keep it up.”
Life gradually settled into a new rhythm, not perfect but calm and predictable. We no longer hid in our room, no longer flinched at loud voices and no longer worried over every step. We simply lived as teenagers should when they manage to find support in the hardest circumstances.
Five years later life in the Kováč family flowed steadily and peacefully. Viera and I had long grown used to the new routine. Studies, circles, meetings with friends and warm evenings at grandmother’s. Our parents still visited in turns, each on their own day with gifts and attention but without mutual complaints. Over those years they had learned to communicate in a measured polite way without the old outbursts of anger.
The first personal contact between the former spouses happened at our graduation evening. The school held a formal event and of course both parents came. They kept their distance at first taking seats at opposite ends of the hall but gradually the ice melted.
When the dancing started Michal unexpectedly approached Anna. “Maybe we could dance? Remember the past.”
She hesitated a moment then nodded.
After the evening they sat for a long time in the schoolyard watching the graduates enjoy themselves by the fountain. Conversation started on its own, first about us then about the past.
They talked a great deal that night recalling happy moments from their marriage and behaved quite decently. They spoke not of old hurts but of the good things that had once connected them. Watching from afar Viera and I could not have been happier. Still it pained us to see two of the closest people treat each other almost like enemies.
But suddenly thunder struck from a clear sky. The next day Michal and Anna invited us to a café. Over tea they glanced at each other, took hands and Michal announced with a wide smile, “Kids your mother and I have thought about it and decided to remarry. Over these years we realized our feelings never faded. We still love each other and want to become a family again.”
His voice sounded joyful as if sharing the happiest news of his life. Anna beamed clearly expecting an enthusiastic reaction.
We looked at each other, our faces darkening instantly. Doubt flickered in Viera’s eyes and I clenched my fists under the table. The same old mistakes again. What was going through our parents’ heads? Could they really live together without conflicts?
“Are you serious?” was all I could manage.
“Absolutely,” Michal replied confidently. “We have both changed. We learned to listen to each other. And we want to give our family a second chance.”
We stayed silent. Inside us conflicting feelings raged. On one hand we wanted to believe our parents had truly managed to change. On the other we feared a repeat of the pain we had once endured.
Yet we did not try to talk them out of it. We did not even comment on the announcement which deeply offended our parents. Anna looked at us in confusion. “What, you are not happy? We thought you would be glad for us.”
We only glanced at each other and shrugged. What could we say? “Do not do this. Do not ruin your lives”? The words stuck in our throats. We did not want to seem cold but we also could not pretend everything was fine.
The conversation never flowed for the rest of the meeting. Our parents tried to share their plans while we nodded politely but our thoughts were far away. On the way home Viera said quietly to me, “I hope they know what they are doing.”
I only sighed in response.
“So we are heading to the capital?” Viera opened her laptop ready to browse university sites. “Farther from this madness. I can already picture how this circus will end.”
“Of course we are going,” I said firmly and my voice carried a grown-up weariness. I ran a hand through my hair as if trying to shake off the weight of recent months. “They will manage peacefully for a month or at most two. Then everything starts over. Shouting, slamming doors, accusations. I no longer want to be a hostage to their relationship. I do not want to wonder every morning what mood they woke up in and which of us the next wave of complaints will hit.”
I stood and paced the room mechanically gathering scattered textbooks. One thought kept circling in my head. Why do adults who should set examples of wisdom and stability behave like unbalanced teenagers? Why do they keep stepping on the same rake instead of solving problems?
“We need to leave,” I repeated stopping at the window. Outside dusk slowly fell painting the city in soft orange tones. I gazed into the distance as if trying to glimpse my future there. “Far away. So far their fights cannot reach us. Let them figure it out themselves. We are no longer their psychologists, no longer mediators, no longer lightning rods. We have our own lives, our own dreams and I will not let them destroy them with another round of parental madness.”
“When do we submit the applications?” Viera asked calmly.
“Tomorrow,” I answered without hesitation. “So we definitely do not change our minds.”
My sister nodded silently without taking her eyes from the screen. Pages from Bratislava university sites flashed by. She had spent a week studying programs, dormitory conditions and job prospects after graduation. Lists grew in her notebook beside the laptop. Pros and cons of each option, required documents, deadlines and contact details for admissions offices.
“The main thing is to study in peace without being distracted by their arguments,” she said quietly as if summing up her thoughts. “It is good we will be so far away.”
“Exactly,” I agreed sitting beside her. I tilted my head slightly reading the lines on the screen. “And when they start figuring out who is to blame again we will not even hear it. Let them call, complain and try to drag us into a family council. We are not participating anymore. And their desire to give the relationship a second chance,” I added with a bitter laugh, “is their choice, not ours.”
Anna and Michal did go through with the second wedding after all. This time they consciously skipped any grand celebration. They wanted no extra expenses, no unwanted attention and honestly did not feel the need for anything elaborate. They kept it to a modest ceremony at the registry office and a dinner with the closest circle, parents, a few friends and us children.
In the photos from that day they looked truly happy. Smiling, holding hands and gazing at each other with tenderness and warmth. Their intertwined fingers, soft looks and light touches were visible in the shots. It seemed all hurts were forgotten, the years apart had done good and now they knew exactly what they wanted with only a bright future ahead. Looking at those pictures we could not help wondering if this time everything would truly turn out differently.
But alas no. The first weeks after the wedding passed surprisingly peacefully. The couple tried to be more attentive to each other, said thank you more often and did not nitpick over small things. Yet old habits gradually returned. Already after a month raised voices sounded again in their apartment. At first they were restrained reproaches, quiet but sharp. “Did you leave your things out again?” “Why did you not warn me you would be late?” “You could help since you are home anyway.”
Then open conflicts began. Arguments arose over trifles. Someone left wet towels in the bathroom. Someone forgot to buy bread. Someone turned the television up too loud. Words grew sharper, voices louder and the gaps between fights shorter.
After two months just as I had predicted the situation reached a boiling point. One evening an argument over who should buy groceries turned into a real storm. Michal unable to control himself threw a cup at the wall in fury. It shattered with a loud crash and shards scattered across the kitchen. Anna equally enraged grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it to the floor. The sound of breaking dishes echoed through the apartment.
After such scenes our parents inevitably tried to call us. Each time the conversation started the same way. One of them would dial the number barely catching their breath after the fight and immediately pour out accumulated grievances.
“Can you imagine what he said today?” Anna would break into tears when Viera picked up the phone. “He does not even try to understand me.”
“Son you have to understand me she has no self-control,” Michal would say to me anxiously. “I am trying I really am but she seems to look for reasons.”
Yet Viera and I had learned to interrupt these monologues gently but firmly. We no longer got drawn into long discussions or tried to figure out who was right and who was wrong. Our answers were short but steady.
“Mother I have a lecture now I will call back later,” Viera would say calmly checking her watch. Twenty minutes remained until class but she had no desire to hear another monologue.
“Father I have urgent work let us discuss this on the weekend,” I would reply without looking up from my laptop screen. I knew if I let a parent vent the talk would stretch to an hour and then I would have to calm them down too.
“Later” and “on the weekend” always got postponed. We found excuses, studies, part-time jobs, meetings with friends and gradually calls from our parents became rarer. Viera and I felt no guilt over it. We were simply protecting our nerves and time knowing we could not change what was happening between our mother and father.
We truly had our own lives, full and meaningful and far from parental dramas. Each day now consisted of our own concerns, interests and plans instead of waiting for the next fight behind the wall.
Viera threw herself into studying psychology. She enjoyed figuring out how the human soul works, why people act one way or another and how to help those in difficult situations. In her third year she began volunteering at a center helping teenagers from troubled families. There she led group sessions, helped the kids express their feelings and find ways out of complicated problems. She saw echoes of her own past in those teenagers and tried to give them what she had once lacked, attention, support and the sense that someone heard them.
I found my path in IT. From the first years I became passionate about programming. The logic of code fascinated me along with the chance to create working systems and solve complex technical problems. I spent a lot of time at the computer learning new programming languages and taking part in student hackathons. In my fourth year our team took third place in a regional competition for developing mobile applications. That gave me confidence and showed I was moving in the right direction. I took a part-time job at a small IT company where I quickly proved myself a responsible and capable employee. Working on real projects I learned to interact with colleagues, manage time well and find solutions in unusual situations.
We began planning our future without looking back at parental scandals. Viera dreamed of opening her own practice to help families find common ground. I considered starting my own business. We discussed plans over tea in cafés, built schemes and wrote ideas in notebooks. In those moments we felt we had support, a path and a life that belonged only to us.
When Anna and Michal tried once more to pull us into their problems, calling in tears and beginning to recount how bad everything was and how they did not understand each other, we answered calmly and firmly. We had discussed in advance how to handle the conversation so we would not break and fall back into the usual role of mediators.
“Enough dear parents sort it out yourselves,” Viera stated firmly. “You have your life and we have ours.”
“But you are our children,” Anna sobbed. “You should support us.”
“If you behaved normally instead of like little children we would support you,” I declared at once. “You made a mistake remarrying and you keep tormenting each other. You cannot coexist normally in one space so why keep suffering? Divorce already and move apart.”
Those words might have seemed cruel but my sister and I simply wanted to live in peace.
From all of this I learned one important lesson. Sometimes you must set clear boundaries to protect your own peace of mind and future even if it means creating distance from those you love. Family should be a source of support rather than constant stress and it is acceptable to seek your own path to happiness.
