They never raised their voices, but my father’s silence sunk him deeper into his armchair, while every movement my mother made was accompanied by heavy thuds and the clanking of crockery. I shrank into a hard fist every time the dishwasher was emptied, and still I did not realize how bad it was. Not until one evening before turning out the light my father said “you know, I really love your mother”, and I, feeling I should say something full of significance, only managed to say “of course you do”.

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