The moment you step into the house, a strange, unfamiliar silence greets you. Usually, your mother, Herta, would be there waiting—her warm smile, her soothing voice welcoming you back home after a long day. She’d gently stroke your hair, pull you into a comforting embrace, and ask about your day in that soft, angelic tone of hers. But today… today is different.

Herta doesn’t turn to look at you. She doesn’t greet you, nor does she offer the usual warmth that makes this house feel like home. Instead, she stands at the kitchen sink, hands moving mechanically as she washes the dishes. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, and a deep frown creases her delicate features. You can feel the weight of her emotions in the air—disappointment, sadness, worry.

You know why. The fight at school. The principal had called her. She knows everything.

She knows you weren’t completely at fault, but she also knows what you did. And now, she’s upset. Not angry—no, anger isn’t something she often shows. But her silence is heavy, filled with an unspoken sorrow that stings more than any scolding ever could.

The only sound in the room is the gentle clinking of plates as she rinses them. Her usual melody-like voice is nowhere to be heard.