I still recall that tense evening when the yelling from our parents’ flat rang out across the entire stairwell in our building. Kalina and I were heading up the steps after school, but we halted right away as if hitting an unseen barrier. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and without saying a word we both understood it was time to leave. We sighed together and turned back, walking quietly away from our home. Neither of us had any plan to spend the night listening to yet another endless fight between our mother Vesela and father Ivan.
Who would want an evening filled with their nonstop arguments? Certainly not us. We marched straight to the next entrance where our grandmother Baba Katerina lived. Her place had turned into our safe haven lately. What used to be weekend visits now happened almost every night as we sought shelter there.
The mood at our own home had grown completely intolerable. Our parents seemed to forget everything else and shouted at each other without pause. The worst part was how they increasingly pulled us into their disputes. Mother would spin toward Kalina and demand agreement on her side, while father would turn to me expecting confirmation of his view. We stayed silent, unwilling to pick sides or join their endless clash. All we craved was quiet, calm and warmth, the kind we always found with Baba Katerina.
These scenes played out day after day like a scratched old record that nobody could halt. We had learned to spot the early warnings from the pitch in their voices, the abrupt gestures or the way they glanced at each other. Those signals told us it was time to slip away. No child enjoys living in constant strain where any chat can explode into a loud row in seconds.
We could never figure out what sparked this family breakdown. Our household had never been perfect like those in ads, yet our parents once knew how to reach agreements. Arguments happened now and then, but they ended in steady talks rather than screams. Mother might frown and father raise his voice a bit, but within half an hour everything settled. We would all sit together again, sip tea and plan weekend outings.
Roughly two years back, after their shared holiday, things shifted as if someone had swapped our old parents for new ones who found reasons to argue over trivial matters. A dirty cup left on the table? That led to a long speech about carelessness and disrespect. A shirt hung on the wrong hook? It brought sarcastic comments about household order. A teaspoon forgotten in the sink? Almost a crime needing a drawn-out discussion.
One night at Baba Katerina’s, Kalina sat in the kitchen stirring her tea absentmindedly. She watched the amber swirls in her cup for a long while before asking with bitterness what had gone wrong during that vacation. Baba Katerina paused, set down her own cup and gently patted Kalina’s hand. She only guessed at the causes of the rift and those guesses brought her no joy.
Adults would sort it out themselves, she replied softly but firmly, noting that sometimes people need time to decide the right path. Kalina nodded yet her eyes showed doubt. She sensed Baba Katerina held something back but chose not to press further. What use was there if we were still seen as kids who could not hear serious matters?
We could not stand the shouting any longer, I blurted out in frustration. We could not focus on lessons or read a book in peace, and I could barely remember the last time we sat as a full family at one table. If living together was so hard for them, they should just separate and make life easier for everyone.
The words came out on their own but carried the truth of recent months. I spoke for both of us since I knew Kalina felt the same. Our home had long lacked any quiet. Mother would snap something sharp and father would reply with irritation, restarting the back-and-forth with nowhere for us to hide.
Baba Katerina looked startled and set aside her knitting. She studied me closely and shook her head slowly. Had I considered what would happen if they split? We would be divided between them. Was I ready to live apart from Kalina?
We will stay with you, Kalina said at once, her eyes pleading. We are already here most of the time anyway. You would not mind, right?
Baba Katerina froze in place. She understood our pain and how worn out we were from the constant parental clashes. On one hand, we would be safe with her in a peaceful setting where lessons could be done without noise, books read in silence and we could feel protected. She loved us deeply and was ready to wrap us in care.
On the other hand, what about our parents? How could we explain that we no longer wanted to live at home? Would they even agree? If they did, how might it affect their bond with us? Could this choice end up causing a complete break from them?
We should not rush into anything, she said after a deep breath. I am always glad to have you here and you know that. But first let us try speaking with your mother and father. Perhaps together we can find a way to mend things.
Do not worry, we will handle the talk with them ourselves, Kalina stated with a confident smile. Baba Katerina had nearly agreed and that mattered most. Just promise not to turn us down. We truly cannot stay there anymore. They would be better off apart or else one day they might actually harm each other. I saw father raise his hand toward mother yesterday. He did not strike her, I swear, but he came close.
Kalina fell quiet as she recalled that awful instant. She had gone to the kitchen for water and stopped at the doorway. Father stood half-turned toward mother with his arm suddenly lifting high while mother ducked instinctively. A second later he lowered it, yet that moment stretched forever for her.
Please agree, Baba, I added while stepping closer and taking her hand as if afraid she might refuse. We will help you with all the household tasks. Just do not send us back there. They pay no attention to us at all. Yesterday I told father about a parent meeting at school. He just said to ask mother. So I did. Guess what she replied?
Go ask your father? Baba Katerina asked quietly, already knowing.
Exactly, I said with a bitter laugh. Then they argued for two more hours over who should attend. They stayed in separate rooms yelling across the hallway while I just stood there listening.
I also asked them to sign a permission form for a museum trip, Kalina added, lowering her gaze as her fingers twisted the edge of her sleeve. Now I am the only one in class who cannot go. Neither signed it. Instead they started fighting again. Mother shouted that it was father’s duty and he insisted mother should handle school matters.
Baba Katerina watched us and saw how deeply exhausted we had become. The tiredness in our eyes was not the usual kind for children. It had built up over months where every day mirrored the last, with family warmth replaced by constant rows and support swapped for indifference.
It is always like this, I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. My voice sounded weary as if I had repeated it countless times. Any request from us turns into fuel for a fresh argument. We do not even want to return home. A couple of days ago we arrived at eleven at night and did they scold us? No, they just sent us to bed without asking where we had been. Later they blamed each other for poor parenting.
We both sighed at the same time again. In recent months we had seriously weighed divorce as the only escape. Yet the thought of being torn apart scared us. One would end up with mother, the other with father, turning our close bond into occasional weekend visits.
We discussed options in whispers at night when alone in our room. Once I jokingly suggested running away, just grabbing bags and heading wherever our feet led. I said it with a grin to ease the tension, but Kalina took it seriously. Her eyes lit up for a second before she whispered that maybe we should really leave, even for a few days. Right then we both realized the family atmosphere had grown so unbearable that even escape ideas no longer seemed crazy.
Then it hit us at once: Baba Katerina. Why not move in with her? The idea came to both of us together as if our thoughts aligned. Kalina voiced it first. What if we ask her to let us live here? She never yells or argues. We would not have to hear those endless fights anymore. I quickly agreed. She is kind and always supports us. Her flat is large enough for us too.
We started picturing this new life in our minds. Calm breakfasts, quiet time for lessons, evenings playing board games with her. No shouts, no accusations, no need to hide in our room to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. For the first time in ages a spark of hope glowed in our hearts. Let our parents sort their own issues while we finally found some rest. That was what we thought as we imagined living with Baba Katerina.
Later we stood before our parents and said firmly that we needed a serious conversation. We had waited until evening when both were home and walked into the living room with determination. Kalina held my hand tightly to steady herself. We asked them to hear us out completely before giving their views.
Father looked up from his phone with surprise while mother stopped arranging items on the sofa and straightened up. Her face showed they thought our words were unthinkable.
This must be your doing, she snapped, crossing her arms. The children are already setting conditions for us as if we owe them explanations.
Who are you to talk, father shot back instantly, setting his phone aside. I am always at work trying to provide for the family. You have been with them all the time. What have you taught them? Why are they now giving orders?
We glanced at each other. We had expected the talk to slide into their usual mutual blame game. But we could not back down.
Enough, Kalina cried out almost with tears in her voice. She stepped forward and tried to speak clearly and calmly even as everything inside her shook. My brother and I have thought about it and decided you need to divorce.
The room went silent at once. Mother froze with her mouth half open while father slowly rose from the sofa.
Now that is news, she said in a threatening tone. Kalina, you are still too young to tell adults how to live. And what else have you decided? Maybe you will divide the flat for us too?
If you do not divorce we will go to the child protection services, I said gripping Kalina’s hand for strength. My voice stayed steady though I barely believed the words myself. Then father, you could lose your job. Your company does not tolerate scandals, right? You have said yourself that reputation means everything.
And you mother, Kalina continued looking straight at her, will lose respect from the neighbors. They will stop talking to you. Everyone already knows how you yell at each other and we can add details.
They are threatening us. Just look at them, mother finally managed to say while shifting her gaze between us. These are our own children. How can you act this way toward us?
We are not threatening, I replied quietly but firmly. We simply want you to understand that living like this is impossible. We are tired. Tired of the shouts, of you not hearing us, of even simple requests turning into fights.
You will divorce and move apart while we live with Baba Katerina, we finished together as we had rehearsed. This will be better for everyone. We will have peace and you will have no constant conflicts. We no longer want to be caught between you like in a crossfire.
Our parents stood frozen. For the first time in a long while they had no reply. Normally they would jump into arguments right away, interrupting and pointing fingers. Now both seemed struck speechless.
Their thirteen-year-old twins were acting in ways they never expected. Kalina and I stood side by side holding hands and looked at them steadily without our usual shyness. We spoke of serious matters that adults usually avoided thinking about.
Our parents had considered divorce themselves many times. Yet one question always stopped them. Who would the children stay with? Splitting twins seemed unthinkable. We had always been close, doing everything together and supporting each other. They could not imagine tearing one from the other and forcing separate homes with only weekend visits.
The idea of us staying with Baba Katerina had never crossed their minds before. Perhaps because they were too wrapped up in their own grudges and complaints. But now hearing our proposal they started to wonder if this could be a solution. Baba Katerina loved us, her flat was spacious and she always welcomed us. Maybe it would resolve at least some issues.
I will call my mother, father said through gritted teeth. His voice came out muffled as if the words were hard to form. If she agrees…
He did not finish. Mother cut in sharply and her tone carried a fatigue that surprised even her.
Then we can finally stop tormenting each other. Call her. I will be glad not to see your face every day.
Her words hung in the air. She had not meant to sound so harsh but years of built-up hurts and disappointments made them slip out.
And I will be just as glad, father replied trying to mask the pain her words caused with sarcasm.
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 Baba Katerina’s number. As the rings sounded both parents stared in different directions avoiding each other’s eyes. They did not yet know where this talk would lead but sensed a point of no return might have been crossed.
That day our family made a fateful choice. It began with a long conversation between father and Baba Katerina. She listened carefully without interrupting and only asked clarifying questions now and then.
When he finally explained everything fully a pause followed. Baba Katerina sighed deeply and said that if they both understood this would be better for the children she agreed. We would be safe with her and she would look after us.
By evening our parents met in the kitchen for the first time in ages without shouts or accusations. They sat across from each other and began discussing details. Step by step they reached the same conclusion. Divorce was the only sensible way out. We would move to Baba Katerina’s and they would send her money each month for our upkeep in Bulgarian levs.
Neither planned to abandon us. Both swore they would visit on weekends but on different days to limit their contact with each other.
I will come on Saturday mornings to take them for a walk and you can come on Sundays, father said wearily. Mother nodded in agreement. This will be simpler. The main thing is that the children do not feel abandoned.
Their main aim was to reduce interactions and avoid new conflicts. They agreed not to discuss each other in front of us, not to pull us to their sides and not to argue in our presence.
We are still their parents, father said. And we must remain so even if we are no longer spouses.
As time showed this decision worked well. We could finally relax and live like regular teenagers. Kalina joined a drawing group she had long wanted to try but never had the chance due to constant worries. I started playing football and made new friends on the team. We spent time together again, walking around the city, going to films and talking about school without fearing a sudden row.
Stability also returned to our studies. We now had a quiet spot for homework with no one distracting us with shouts or fights. Assignments got done calmly without nerves and this quickly showed in better marks. Teachers noticed the change and said we had become so attentive and to keep it up.
Slowly life settled into a new rhythm. It was not perfect but it was calm and predictable. We no longer hid in our room, jumped at loud voices or worried over every step. We simply lived as teenagers should when they find support in tough times.
Five years later our family life moved along steadily and quietly. Kalina and I had grown used to the new routine of studies, clubs, time with friends and warm evenings with Baba Katerina. Our parents still visited on alternate days with gifts and attention but without old complaints. Over those years they had learned to speak to each other in a restrained polite way without old anger flares.
Their first direct contact after the split came at our high school graduation. The school held a formal evening and both parents attended of course. They stayed cautious at first sitting in different parts of the hall but gradually the ice melted.
When dancing began father walked over to mother and asked if she wanted to dance to remember old times. She hesitated briefly then nodded.
After the event they sat for a long while in the school yard watching graduates celebrate by the fountain. Conversation started naturally first about us then about the past.
They talked a lot that night recalling happy moments from their marriage and behaved properly. They focused on the good times that once connected them rather than old hurts. We watched from afar and felt glad yet pained to see our two closest people treat each other almost like enemies.
But then trouble struck out of nowhere. The next day our parents invited us to a cafe. Over tea they glanced at each other, took hands and father announced with a big smile that they had decided to remarry. Over the years they realized their feelings had not faded. They still loved each other and wanted to become a family again.
His voice sounded joyful as if sharing the happiest news. Mother beamed clearly expecting us to react with excitement.
We looked at each other and our faces darkened at once. Doubt flashed in Kalina’s eyes while I clenched my fists under the table. Back to the same mistakes. What were our parents thinking? Could they really live together without conflicts?
Are you serious, Kalina managed to say.
Absolutely, father 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. Conflicting feelings raged inside us. On one side we wanted to believe they had truly changed. On the other we feared repeating the pain we had once endured.
We did not try to talk them out of it though. We did not even comment on the announcement which hurt them deeply. Mother looked at us confused and asked if we were not happy since they thought we would be glad for them.
We just exchanged glances 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 could not pretend everything was fine either.
The conversation dragged on awkwardly until the end. Our parents tried describing their plans while we nodded politely but our minds were elsewhere. On the way home Kalina said quietly to me that she hoped they knew what they were doing. I only sighed in reply.
Does this mean we are heading to Sofia, Kalina asked while opening her laptop to check university sites. Farther from this madness. I can already picture how this circus will end.
Of course we are going, I said firmly with a weariness beyond my years. I ran a hand through my hair as if trying to shake off the weight of recent months. They will live peacefully for a month at most two. Then it starts again. Shouts, slamming doors, accusations. I do not want to be a hostage to their relationship anymore. I do not want to wonder every morning what mood they woke up in and which of us will face the next wave of complaints.
I stood and paced the room gathering scattered textbooks without thinking. One thought kept circling in my head. Why do adults who should model wisdom and stability act 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 twilight slowly fell painting the city in soft orange hues. I gazed into the distance as if trying to see my future there. Far away. So far that their arguments cannot reach us. Let them handle it themselves. We are no longer their psychologists, mediators or lightning rods. We have our own lives and dreams and I will not let them destroy them with another round of parental chaos.
When do we submit the applications, Kalina asked calmly.
Tomorrow, I answered without hesitation. So we do not change our minds.
She nodded silently keeping her eyes on the screen. Pages from Sofia university sites flashed by. She had spent a week studying programs, dormitory conditions and job prospects after graduation. Her notebook beside the laptop held growing lists of pros and cons for each option plus required documents, deadlines and admission contacts.
The key is to study in peace without their dramas distracting us, she said quietly as if wrapping up her thoughts. It is good we will be so far away.
Exactly, I agreed sitting beside her and leaning in to read the screen. And when they start blaming each other again we will not even hear it. They can call and complain or try to pull us into family talks but we will not take part. Their wish to give the relationship another chance, I added with a bitter smile, is their choice not ours.
Our parents did go through with the second wedding after all. This time they deliberately skipped a big celebration. They wanted to avoid extra costs and attention and honestly did not feel the need for anything grand. They kept it to a simple registry office ceremony and dinner with close family and a few friends including us.
In the photos from that day they looked genuinely happy. Smiling, holding hands and gazing at each other with tenderness and warmth. The images showed their intertwined fingers, soft looks and light touches. It seemed all old hurts were forgotten, that years apart had helped and that they now knew exactly what they wanted with only a bright future ahead. We looked at those pictures and could not help wondering if this time things might truly turn out different.
But no. The first weeks after the wedding passed surprisingly peacefully. They tried to be more attentive, said thank you more often and avoided nitpicking small things. Yet old habits soon crept back. Within a month raised voices returned to their flat. At first came restrained but sharp reproaches. You left your things out again? Why did you not tell me you would be late? You could have helped since you are home anyway.
Then open conflicts erupted. Arguments started over nothing. Someone left wet towels in the bathroom. Someone forgot to buy bread. Someone turned the television too loud. Words grew sharper, voices louder and 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 storm. Father lost control and in rage threw a cup at the wall where it shattered loudly with shards flying across the kitchen. Mother equally furious grabbed a plate from the table and smashed it on the floor. The sound of breaking dishes echoed through the flat.
After such scenes they always tried calling us. Each time the call started the same way. One of them dialed barely catching breath after the fight and unloaded all the accumulated grievances.
Can you imagine what he said today, mother would sob when Kalina answered. He does not even try to understand me.
Son you must understand me she has no self-control, father would say agitatedly to me. I am trying I really am but she seems to look for reasons.
Yet Kalina and I had learned to interrupt these monologues gently but firmly. We no longer got drawn into long discussions or tried figuring out who was right or wrong. Our replies stayed short and steady.
Mother I am in class right now I will call back later, Kalina would say calmly checking the clock. Twenty minutes remained until her lecture but she had no wish to hear another rant.
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 call would drag on for an hour and then I would have to calm them down too.
Later and on the weekend always got postponed. We found excuses like studies, part-time jobs or time with friends and gradually the calls from our parents grew rarer. Kalina and I felt no guilt over this. We were simply guarding our nerves and time knowing we could not change what happened between our mother and father.
We truly had our own lives now full, meaningful and far from their dramas. Each day consisted of our own concerns, interests and plans rather than waiting for the next fight behind the wall.
Kalina threw herself into studying psychology. She enjoyed exploring how the human mind works, why people act certain ways and how to help those in difficult spots. In her third year she began volunteering at a center aiding teenagers from troubled homes. There she led group sessions helping young people express feelings and find ways out of tough situations. She saw echoes of our own past in those teenagers and tried giving them what we once lacked. Attention, support and the sense that someone heard them.
I found my path in information technology. From early courses I got hooked on programming. The logic of code fascinated me along with the chance to build working systems and solve complex technical problems. I spent much time at the computer learning new programming languages and joining student hackathons. In my fourth year my team took third place in a regional mobile app development contest. This boosted my confidence and confirmed I was on the right track. I took a part-time job at a small IT firm where I quickly proved myself as a reliable and capable worker. Working on real projects taught me to collaborate with colleagues, manage time well and find solutions in unusual situations.
We began planning our future without looking back at our parents’ rows. Kalina dreamed of opening her own practice to help families find common ground. I considered starting my own business. We discussed ideas over tea in cafes, drew up schemes and noted plans in notebooks. In those moments we felt we had support. We had a path. We had a life that belonged only to us.
When our parents tried pulling us into their problems again by calling in tears and describing how badly everything was going and how they could not understand each other we answered calmly but firmly. We had already talked through how to handle the conversation without slipping or falling back into our old mediator role.
That is enough dear parents sort it out yourselves, Kalina stated firmly. You have your life and we have ours.
But you are our children, mother sobbed. You must support us.
If you behaved normally instead of like little kids 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 hurting one another? Just divorce and move apart already.
Those words might have seemed harsh yet my sister and I simply wanted to live in peace. From all this I learned that sometimes you must shield your own peace even from those closest to you by drawing clear lines and refusing to be drawn back into cycles that cannot be broken.
