I still remember that day when Inês and I were climbing the stairs in our building in Porto. Suddenly we heard a womans voice from behind one of the doors: Whats wrong with you again? How many times? Ive had enough of this! The voice carried through the entire stairwell.
At that moment Inês and I froze on the steps, as if we had walked straight into a wall. Our eyes met for a second and no words were needed. We both knew it was better to turn back. We sighed together, spun around, and walked quietly away from our own apartment. We had no intention of going home that night.
Who would choose to spend the evening listening to their parents fight without end? Not us. We headed straight for the neighboring entrance where our grandmother, Vovó Isabel, lived. Her flat had become our real refuge. Before, we only went there on weekends; now we stayed almost every night.
Things at home had grown unbearable. Our parents shouted at each other constantly, as if nothing else existed. Worst of all, they had started dragging us into every argument.
Sometimes our mother would turn to Inês and demand, Tell me Im right. You agree with me, dont you?
Other times our father would look at me and say, No, Im the one whos right. Back me up!
Inês and I stayed quiet. We didnt want to pick sides or become part of their endless war. We only wanted silence, calm, and warmththe things we found at Vovó Isabels.
These scenes repeated every single day, like a scratched record nobody would turn off. We had learned to read the warning signs: the tone of voice, the sharp gestures, the way they glanced at each other. All of it told us it was time to leave. What child would enjoy living in that constant tension, where any talk could explode into shouting?
We couldnt figure out what had started the whole disaster. Our family had never been perfect, but once upon a time our parents could talk things through. Arguments happened, sure, but they ended in quiet conversations, not screams. Mum might frown, Dad might raise his voice a little, and half an hour later everything was settled. We would sit at the table again, drink tea, and plan the weekend.
About two years earlier everything shifted. It was as if someone had swapped our parents for strangers who could turn the smallest thing into a fight. A dirty cup left on the table? A long speech about carelessness and disrespect. A shirt on the wrong hanger? Sharp remarks about order. A teaspoon forgotten in the sink? Treated like a serious offence.
One evening Inês sat in Vovó Isabels kitchen, stirring her tea without really seeing it. She stared at the swirling liquid for a long time, then asked bitterly, How did this happen, Vovó? Everything changed after their holiday together. What went wrong there?
Vovó Isabel set her cup down, paused, and gently touched Inêss hand. She only guessed at the reasons herself, and those guesses brought her no comfort.
Adults will work it out, she answered softly, trying to sound sure. Sometimes people need time to decide whats best.
Inês nodded, but doubt stayed in her eyes. She knew our grandmother was holding something back, yet she didnt push. What was the use? As long as we were still seen as children, no one would tell us anything important.
We cant stand the shouting anymore! I burst out. We cant do homework or read a book in peace. I dont even remember the last time we all sat down together. If being together is so hard for them, they should just divorceeveryone would be better off!
The words poured out, but they carried every bit of truth from the past months. I wasnt speaking only for myself; I knew my sister felt exactly the same. Peace had vanished from our house long ago. Either Mum would snap or Dad would answer with irritation, and another fight would begin with nowhere to hide.
Mateus Vovó Isabel looked shaken. She set her knitting aside, studied me, and slowly shook her head. Have you thought about what happens if they divorce? You two would be split up. Are you ready to live apart from Inês?
Well live with you! Inês said at once, her eyes pleading. Were already here almost every day. You wouldnt mind, would you?
Vovó Isabel went still. She understood how tired we were and how much the endless arguments had worn us down. On one side, we would be safe with herin a quiet, kind place where we could study without noise, read in peace, and feel protected. She loved us deeply and was ready to care for us.
On the other side stood our parents. How would we explain that we no longer wanted to live at home? Would they accept it? And if they did, what would that do to their bond with us? Could this choice end up breaking our relationship with them completely?
Lets not decide in a hurry, she said after a deep breath. Im always glad to have you here, you know that. But first lets try talking to your mother and father. Maybe together we can find a way to make things better.
Dont worry, well speak to them ourselves, Inês answered confidently, smiling. Vovó Isabel had almost agreed, and that mattered most. Just dont turn us down, please. We truly cant stay there anymore. It would be better for them to live apartotherwise one day they might actually hurt each other. Yesterday I saw Dad raise his hand to Mum He didnt hit her, I swear, but he came close.
Inês stopped, remembering that moment. She had gone to the kitchen for water and stood frozen in the doorway: Dad half-turned toward Mum, his hand suddenly lifted, Mum ducking by instinct. A second later he lowered his arm, yet that second had stretched forever for her.
Vovó, say yes! I urged, moving closer and taking her hand as if she might still refuse. Well help you with everything in the house. Just dont send us back. They barely notice us at all. Yesterday I told Dad there was a parents meeting at school. Know what he said? Go ask your mother. So I did. Guess what she told me?
Go ask your father? Vovó Isabel asked quietly, already knowing.
Exactly, I said with a bitter laugh. Then they spent another two hours arguing across the hallway about who should go. I just stood there listening.
I asked them to sign the permission slip for the museum trip, Inês added, eyes down, fingers twisting her sleeve. Now Im the only one in class who cant go. Neither of them signed it. Instead they started fighting againMum shouting it was Dads job, Dad insisting Mum should handle school things.
Vovó Isabel watched us and saw how exhausted we were. The tiredness in our eyes wasnt ordinary; it had built up month after month, replacing family warmth with constant arguments and support with indifference.
Its always the same, I sighed, shoulders slumped. My voice sounded worn, as though I had said it a hundred times before. Any request from us becomes another reason to fight. We dont even want to come home. A few nights ago we got back at eleven and they didnt scold us. They just sent us to bed without asking where wed been. Later they blamed each other for poor parenting for hours.
We sighed at the same time again. In recent months we had seriously considered that divorce might be the only escape. Yet the thought of being separated from each other terrified us. One of us would stay with Mum, the other with Dad, and our closeness would shrink to occasional weekend visits.
We whispered about options in our room at night. Once I joked about running awayjust grabbing backpacks and leaving. I smiled to ease the mood, but Inês took it seriously. Her eyes brightened for a moment, then she said softly, What if we really left? Even for a couple of days In that instant we both understood the situation at home had grown so bad that even the idea of running away no longer felt impossible.
Then the thought came: Vovó Isabel! Why not move in with her? The idea struck us together. Inês spoke first: Lets ask if we can live with her. She wont shout or argue. We wont have to listen to those fights anymore I added at once, Yes! Shes kind and always supports us. Her flat is big enough for all of us.
We began imagining a different life: quiet breakfasts, homework done in silence, evenings playing games with our grandmother. No shouting, no accusations, no need to hide in our room. For the first time in ages, hope flickered. Let the parents sort themselves out; we would finally have peace. That was what we pictured as we thought about living with Vovó Isabel.
One evening we stood before our parents and spoke clearly. Mum, Dad, we need to talk seriously, we said, having waited until both were home. Inês gripped my hand for courage. But first promise youll hear us out before you answer.
Dad looked up from his phone, surprised. Mum, who had been folding laundry on the sofa, straightened sharply. Their faces showed they found our words almost impossible.
This is your doing! Mum snapped, arms crossed. The children are already giving us orders, as if we have to answer to them!
Who are you to talk? Dad shot back, setting his phone down. Im at work all day providing for this family. Youre the one whos always with them. What exactly did you teach them that they now think they can command us?
We glanced at each other. We had expected the usual slide into blame. Still, we couldnt stop.
Enough! Inês said, voice tight with tears. She stepped forward, trying to stay steady though she was shaking inside. Mateus and I have decided you need to divorce.
The room went silent. Mums mouth fell open. Dad rose slowly from the sofa.
Now Ive heard everything, Mum said, her tone dangerous. Inês, youre far too young to tell adults how to live their lives. And what else have you two decided? Perhaps youd like to divide the flat for us as well?
If you dont divorce, well contact child protection services, I said, holding Inêss hand tightly. My voice stayed firm even though part of me couldnt believe I was saying it. Dad, you could lose your job. Your company doesnt tolerate scandalsyouve said so yourself. Reputation is everything there.
And you, Mum, Inês continued, looking straight at her, will lose the respect of the neighbours. They wont even speak to you. Everyone already hears the shouting; we can add more details.
Theyre threatening us! Look at them! Mum exclaimed, staring from one to the other. These are our children! How can you speak to us this way?
Were not threatening, I answered quietly but clearly. Were simply saying this cant continue. Were tired. Tired of the shouting, of being ignored, of every small request turning into a fight.
Youll divorce and move apart, and well live with Vovó Isabel, we finished together, the way we had practised. It will be better for everyone: peace for us, fewer conflicts for you. We refuse to stay caught between you any longer.
Our parents stood frozen. For the first time they had no reply. Normally they would have started arguing at once, interrupting and blaming each other. Now both seemed unable to speak.
Their thirteen-year-old twins were acting in a way they had never expected. Inês and I stood side by side, hands linked, looking at them with steady eyes. We were discussing matters the adults themselves tried to avoid.
They had considered divorce before, but the same question always stopped them: with whom would the children live? Splitting twins felt unthinkable. We had always been close, done everything together, supported each other. They could not picture separating us into different homes, seeing each other only on weekends.
They had never thought of Vovó Isabels flat as an option. Perhaps their own anger had kept the idea from occurring to them. Now, hearing our suggestion, they began to wonder whether it might actually work. Vovó Isabel loved us, her flat was large, she was always glad to see us. Perhaps this could ease at least some of the strain.
Ill call my mother, Dad said at last through clenched teeth. His voice was low, the words heavy. If she agrees
He didnt finish. Mum cut in, her voice carrying a weariness that seemed to surprise even her.
Then well finally stop torturing each other. Call her. Ill be glad not to see your face every day.
The words hung between them. She hadnt meant to sound so sharp, but years of hurt had pushed them out.
And Ill be just as glad, Dad replied, trying to mask his pain with irony.
There was no anger in his tone, only a bitter smile at what their life together had become. He took out his phone and slowly dialled. While the line rang, they looked in opposite directions, avoiding each others eyes. They didnt yet know where the conversation would lead, but both sensed a line had been crossed.
That day our family made a decision that changed everything. It began with a long talk between Dad and Vovó Isabel. She listened without interrupting, asking only a few careful questions.
When Dad had explained everything, a silence fell. Vovó Isabel breathed deeply and said, If you both believe this is best for the children, I agree. They will be safe here. I will look after them.
That evening our parents met in the kitchen without shouting for the first time in months. They sat facing each other and began to discuss practical matters. Step by step they reached the same conclusion: divorce was the only reasonable step. We would move to Vovó Isabels, and they would send money each month for our support.
Neither of them planned to abandon us. Both promised to visit on weekends, but on different days so they would rarely meet.
Ill come Saturday morning and take them out, Dad said wearily. Mum nodded. You can come Sunday. That way it stays simple. The important thing is that the children never feel forgotten.
Their goal was to keep contact to a minimum and avoid new fights. They agreed not to criticise each other in front of us, not to pull us into their disagreements, and not to argue when we were present.
We are still their parents, Dad said. We have to keep being parents even if we are no longer husband and wife.
Time proved the choice was the right one. Inês and I could finally relax and live like ordinary teenagers. Inês joined an art club she had always wanted to try but never had the peace for. I started playing football and made new friends on the team. We spent time together againwalking through the city, going to the cinema, talking about school without fearing a sudden explosion.
Our schoolwork improved as well. We now had a quiet place to study, free from shouting. Homework got done calmly, and our marks rose quickly. Teachers noticed. You two have become so focusedwell done!
Life settled into a steady rhythm, not perfect but peaceful and predictable. We no longer hid in our room or jumped at raised voices. We simply lived as teenagers who had found safety in difficult times.
Five years later our family moved at a calm, steady pace. Inês and I had grown used to the new routine: studies, clubs, friends, quiet evenings with Vovó Isabel. Our parents still visited on alternate days, bringing gifts and attention but no arguments. Over the years they had learned to speak politely and keep their distance.
The first time they met face to face again was at our school-leaving celebration. Both came, of course. At first they sat apart and watched each other warily, but gradually the distance shrank.
When the dancing began, Dad walked over to Mum.
Would you like to dance? For old times sake.
She hesitated, then nodded.
After the evening they sat in the schoolyard for a long time, watching the other graduates by the fountain. Conversation came naturallyfirst about us, then about their own past.
They talked for hours, recalling the good parts of their marriage and behaving with dignity. They spoke of what had once been happy, not of old wounds. Inês and I watched from a distance and felt a quiet relief. Still, it hurt to see two people who had once been everything to each other treat each other like strangers.
The next day everything shifted again. Our parents invited us to a café. Over tea they took each others hands and Dad smiled broadly.
Children, your mother and I have decided to marry again. After all this time we realise our feelings never disappeared. We still love each other and want to be a family once more.
His voice was bright, as though he were sharing the best news possible. Mum looked happy, clearly hoping for joy from us.
Inês and I looked at each other, our faces darkening at once. Disbelief crossed her eyes; I clenched my fists beneath the table. The same mistakes again. What were they thinking? Could they really live together without the old fights returning?
Are you serious? Inês managed to ask.
Completely, Dad answered. Weve both changed. Weve learned to listen. We want to give our family another chance.
We stayed silent. Conflicting feelings churned inside us: part of us wanted to believe they had truly changed, another part feared the old pain would return.
Yet we said nothing to stop them. We offered no comment at all, which hurt them deeply. Mum looked at us, confused.
Arent you pleased? We thought you would be happy for us.
We only glanced at each other and shrugged. What could we say? Dont do thisdont ruin your lives? The words stayed in our throats. We didnt want to seem heartless, but we also couldnt pretend everything was fine.
The rest of the visit felt strained. Our parents spoke of their plans; we nodded politely while our minds wandered. On the way home Inês said quietly, I hope they know what theyre doing.
I could only sigh.
So were heading to Lisbon? Inês opened her laptop and began searching university pages. Far from all this. I can already picture how this circus will end.
Of course we are, I said firmly. My voice carried a tiredness no teenager should feel. I pushed my hair back as if shedding the weight of recent months. Theyll manage a month, maybe two. Then the shouting, the slammed doors, the accusations will start again. I refuse to be trapped in their relationship any longer. I dont want to wake up every morning wondering what mood theyre in or which of us will catch the next round of blame.
I stood and paced, gathering scattered books without thinking. The same thought kept circling: why did adults, who should show wisdom and steadiness, act like reckless teenagers? Why did they keep repeating the same mistakes instead of solving anything?
We have to go, I repeated, stopping at the window. Outside, evening light was softening the city in warm orange tones. I looked toward the horizon as if searching for our future there. Far enough that their fights cant reach us. Let them handle their own problems. Were no longer their counsellors, their go-betweens, or their targets. We have our own lives and dreams, and I wont let another wave of their chaos destroy them.
When are we sending the applications? Inês asked calmly.
Tomorrow, I answered at once. Before we can change our minds.
She nodded without looking up. Pages from Lisbon universities filled the screen. She had spent days studying courses, accommodation, and job prospects after graduation. Her notebook beside the laptop was filling with lists of advantages and disadvantages, required documents, deadlines, and contact details.
The main thing is to study in peace, without their arguments pulling us back, she said quietly. Its good well be so far away.
Exactly, I agreed, sitting beside her. I leaned in to read the screen. When they start blaming each other again, we wont even hear it. They can call and complain all they wantwere done being part of it. Their wish to try again is their choice, not ours.
They did marry a second time. This time they chose a simple civil ceremony at the registry office and a small dinner with close family and friends. No big celebration, no extra expense, no need to draw attention.
In the photographs they looked genuinely happysmiling, holding hands, gazing at each other with warmth. Their fingers were intertwined, their expressions soft. It seemed every old hurt had been left behind, that the years apart had helped them understand what they truly wanted. Looking at those pictures, Inês and I wondered whether this time might really be different.
It wasnt. The first weeks after the wedding were unusually calm. They tried to be considerate, said thank you more often, and avoided petty complaints. Gradually the old patterns returned. Within a month raised voices echoed through their flat again. At first the reproaches were quiet but cutting: You left your things out again? Why didnt you tell me youd be late? You could help since youre home.
Then open fights erupted over nothinga wet towel in the bathroom, forgotten bread, the television too loud. Words grew sharper, voices louder, the gaps between arguments shorter.
Two months later, exactly as I had expected, things reached breaking point. One evening an argument about who should shop for groceries exploded. Dad, furious, hurled a cup against the wall. It shattered loudly, pieces scattering across the floor. Mum grabbed a plate and smashed it down with equal force. The sound of breaking crockery rang through the flat.
After every such scene they tried to reach us. The calls always began the same way: one of them would phone, still breathless from the fight, and pour out every grievance.
Can you believe what he said today? Mum would cry when Inês answered. He doesnt even try to understand me!
Son, you have to see my sideshe has no control over herself, Dad would tell me. Im trying, I really am, but she looks for reasons.
Inês and I had learned to cut these calls short without being harsh. We no longer let ourselves be drawn into long debates or attempts to decide who was right. Our answers stayed brief and steady.
Mum, Im in a lectureI’ll call later, Inês would say calmly, checking the clock even if she had twenty minutes to spare.
Dad, I have urgent worklets talk at the weekend, I would answer without looking away from my screen. I knew that if I let him speak freely the conversation would last an hour and then I would have to calm him down.
Later and at the weekend kept being postponed. We used studies, part-time jobs, and time with friends as reasons, and the calls gradually grew rarer. We felt no guilt. We were simply protecting our own peace, knowing we could not fix what was happening between our parents.
We truly had our own lives nowfull, purposeful, and distant from their dramas. Each day was shaped by our own concerns, interests, and plans rather than by waiting for the next explosion behind a wall.
Inês threw herself into psychology. She enjoyed understanding how minds work, why people behave as they do, and how to help those in trouble. In her third year she began volunteering at a centre for teenagers from difficult homes. She ran group sessions, helped them voice their feelings, and find ways forward. She recognised pieces of her own past in those young people and tried to offer the attention and support she had once missed.
I found my place in IT. From the start I was drawn to programmingthe clean logic of code, the satisfaction of building something that worked, the challenge of solving complex problems. I spent hours at the computer, learning new languages and joining student competitions. In my fourth year my team placed third in a regional mobile-app contest. That success gave me confidence and confirmed I was on the right path. I took a part-time job at a small tech company, where I quickly proved reliable. Working on real projects taught me how to collaborate, manage time, and handle unexpected situations.
We began planning our future without reference to our parents fights. Inês hoped to open her own practice one day, helping families communicate better. I considered starting my own business. We discussed these ideas over coffee in cafés, drew up outlines, and filled notebooks with possibilities. In those moments we felt we had solid ground beneath usa direction and a life that belonged only to us.
When our parents tried once more to pull us into their troublesphoning in tears and describing how badly things were goingwe answered calmly and firmly. We had already agreed on how to handle the conversation so we would neither lose our tempers nor fall back into the old role of peacemakers.
Enough, Mum and Daddeal with it yourselves, Inês said clearly. You have your life; we have ours.
But youre our children! Mum sobbed. You should support us!
If you behaved like adults instead of children, we would support you, I replied at once. You made a mistake remarrying and youre still hurting each other. You cant live together peacefully, so why keep torturing one another? Divorce and move apart.
The words may have sounded harsh, but my sister and I simply wanted to live in peace.
