Short Story Contest Submission: ShindaHotaru – Time Will Tell
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Time will tell
It was supposed to be a quiet evening, husband out with the boys and the house empty and silent for once. You wanted to relax for once, just for once, even though you wouldn't have minded your husband's company. But the kids wanted to watch a movie you can't even recall the name of and he suggested to take them out, probably the only way to get your oldest son out of the house.
Things have gotten out of order the past weeks, or months or so, you can't remember when family life has stopped being only about weekend trips, movie nights and playing hide and seek in the garden. Someday your oldest son stopped coming downstairs for a play of hanafuda, the next he took his lunch upstairs into his bedroom. Logically, a fifteen-year-old boy needs privacy, some time on his own. But you can't find an excuse nor explanation why your son wouldn't want to eat with you anymore. What, upstairs in his room, was more interesting than familiar company?
You shake your head, nuzzle your back more into the sofa cushion and sigh your thoughts away. This is your evening, no need to have your family problems on your mind while they are out of the house. So you lie there on the champagne couch, your gaze wandering through the living-room, a mixture of crème and brown-colored furniture, the little nostalgic lamp on, sitting in her beauty on the table on the other side of the sofa.
Now that you are home alone, you have no clue what to do with the time given. Your husband and kids only left half an hour ago and they won't be back in the next three hours. Maybe even in four hours, when your husband comes up with the idea to treat them all with some fast food. He spoils the kids too much, you figure, he would grant them a wish when you didn't even allow them to make one. Or perhaps he has a better idea of raising kids than you have, and after all you're just too strict in most of the cases. And maybe that was why your oldest likes to stay up in his room instead of jamming on the guitar with you.
Maybe not? Well, you could use the time to find out, now that your son is far away, physically, and mentally even farther away. You get up, climb the marble staircase and walk over to your son's bedroom door, determined to enter and look for any evidence. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, your husband's voice echoes, that having trust in your children was essential, but you have no trouble to ignore your inner voice and walk into your son's bedroom.
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