Writers 
HIS PERFECT WIFE 2
For the next few weeks, I tried not to think about the argument I had overheard.
I believed Daddy was going to fix everything, so I carried on with my life as though nothing had changed.
But something had changed.
Daddy stopped laughing as much.
He stopped coming home with the little snacks he usually bought for me. “Take this, princess.”
His smile never reached his eyes.
One Monday morning, I woke up and found Mama sitting at the edge of her bed, counting a small pile of money.
She didn't notice me.
She counted it once.
Then again.
Then she sighed and covered her face with both hands.
“Mama?”
She quickly looked up.
“Oh, Amara. You're awake?”
“Yes.”
She forced a smile.
“Go and get ready for school.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
I knew she was lying, but I didn't ask again.
That afternoon, Daddy came home earlier than usual.
He walked straight into the bedroom and closed the door.
Mama followed him.
I stayed in the sitting room, pretending to do my homework while listening to their voices.
“I told you this would happen,” Mama said.
“I know.”
“You should have listened.”
“I said I know.”
There was silence.
Then Mama started crying.
A few minutes later, Daddy came out.
His eyes were red.
He saw me and immediately tried to smile.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Are you sick?”
He laughed softly.
“No, princess. I'm just tired.”
He sat beside me and pulled me close.
Then he said something I had never heard him say before.
“I might not be able to keep you in this school.”
“What?”
He looked away.
“It may only be for a while.”
“But I like my school."
“I know.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
His face changed immediately.
“No. Never think that.”
He hugged me tightly.
“This is not your fault.”
If it wasn't my fault, why did it feel like I was being punished?
The following weeks became harder.
Bills piled up.
Mama started reducing the amount of food she cooked. Daddy sold some things in the house. Each time something disappeared, I asked where it had gone.
Each time, they gave me the same answer.
“We'll replace it someday.”
But I began noticing that nobody sounded like they believed it anymore.
Then one evening, Daddy came home carrying an empty bag.
He sat down quietly and stared at the floor.
Mama walked toward him.
“What happened?”
He didn't answer.
She already knew.
I watched from the hallway as she knelt beside him and held his hand.
For the first time, I saw my father cry.
That frightened me more than anything.
Because if Daddy could cry, maybe he wasn't strong enough to fix everything after all.
That night, I stayed awake, listening to the silence in the house.
For the first time, I wondered what would happen next.
I was only eight years old.
I had no answers then.
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