Our parents, Robert and Elaine, called it quits the moment my brother Liam and I had built our own lives—started families, welcomed kids, earned our own keep, and set sail on our independent journeys in the quiet coastal town of Cornwall.
As far back as my memory stretches, their house in Bristol was never a haven of peace. Shouting matches, bitter arguments, slamming doors, and endless showdowns were the soundtrack of our childhood. The chaos would only subside when night fell—perhaps because exhaustion overtook them, or maybe because darkness forced a temporary truce.
They’d collapse into the same bed, only for the storm to reignite at dawn…
And then came their silver anniversary. A lavish spread adorned the table, glasses clinked with toasts, laughter filled the air—until the evening’s grand finale dropped like a bombshell:
– “Thank you all for coming, but tomorrow, we’re filing for divorce.”
The guests chuckled nervously, assuming it was a tasteless jest, but Liam and I locked eyes across the room, knowing full well this was no prank. Once the crowd dissipated, we cornered our parents, pressing for clarity, and their steely resolve confirmed our worst fears.
By sunrise, Robert and Elaine marched to the registry office, divorce papers in hand. For the agonizing three months that followed, as the legal wheels turned, we begged them to reconsider, to pull back from the brink. But no—they were immovable, their hearts hardened beyond reach.
Worse still, while awaiting the final decree, they launched into a ferocious division of everything they owned, down to the smallest trinkets. The real heartbreak came when they fought over our dog, Shadow—a battle so fierce you’d think he was a priceless heirloom. In the end, Elaine claimed him as her “asset.”
But the true nightmare—the gut-wrenching twist—was yet to unfold. They didn’t stop at splitting their worldly goods; they decided to carve up their children, too. I, Daniel, along with my wife and kids, was assigned to Robert’s camp, while Liam, his spouse, and their little one were handed over to Elaine. It was like some grotesque game show, tearing our lives apart for their petty vendetta.
Liam and I stood there, clutching our heads in disbelief, while our spouses openly gestured their disgust, twirling fingers at their temples—and honestly, who could blame them? The divorce erupted like a volcano—messy, loud, and raw—and when the dust settled, our parents enforced their cruel partition. My calls to Elaine go unanswered; Liam’s pleas to Robert fall on deaf ears. Meetings? Out of the question. Connection? Severed.
It’s as if we’re trapped in a maddening circus, caught between the warring factions of our parents’ hatred, floundering in this suffocating swamp of resentment with no clue how to escape the wreckage they’ve left behind.
