It had started when she was five. By teenage, she had perfected the art of ignorance.
So many times the girl had caught her parents kissing, making out. Not only that, she had witnessed the flings her father had had. Those women he flirted with at the business parties, those good looking relatives, he tried to hit on, those desperate junior he took advantage of, the needy women he paid to. She had known it all. Yet, her face remained as passive as a dead pan. No acknowledgement of what she knew was happening. It was even better than turning a blind eye.
She had put in great efforts to achieve this. To see her mother’s loneliness and never reach out; to see her dad, her first hero become a villain and not flinch. It hurt. The pain wrenched her gut. But she never let it show. She concentrated well on growing up and finding a life of her own.
After all those years of this silent struggle, it was only fair that she expected her father to see, but not see when she walked back home in the arms of her guy.
