A man stood across the room, his gaze fixed on his wife with a tenderness that seemed to light up his entire being. In that moment, he was the happiest man in the world. Dark curls tumbled over his forehead, a neatly kept black beard framed his strong jaw, and long lashes softened his eyes whenever they rested on her.
She was youthful, radiant, and far younger than him—he, twenty-eight; she, only nineteen. Her short wavy hair framed her delicate face, her tall, elegant posture exuded grace, and her large eyes sparkled with life.
"Lady Diana, I want a girl," he said softly, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
Nora laughed, the sound light and musical. She knew why he always called her Lady Diana—her short hair, striking beauty, and graceful height reminded him of a princess.
"No, Fletcher, I want a son," she teased, returning his smile.
Fletcher's grin faltered briefly, shadowed by a memory. Two years earlier, they had lost their first child, a boy, to miscarriage. The pain lingered silently, yet in this moment, hope and love glimmered stronger than any past sorrow.
At dawn, Nora gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Fletcher's heart swelled with joy; he felt as if the world itself had paused to celebrate.
Everyone in the family rejoiced. Fletcher's parents, siblings, Nora's parents, and her brothers and sisters gathered eagerly, each longing to cradle the fragile new life in their arms. Little Velora became the apple of everyone's eye.
As the first granddaughter and eldest child in both families, every smile, every coo, and even a single tear became a source of love, concern, and excitement. Their home, situated close to Nora's parents and not far from Fletcher's, ensured that Velora was surrounded by attention, care, and admiration. She became a miniature celebrity, pampered and adored at every turn.
Life was beautiful, peaceful, and wrapped in love. Fletcher loved Nora as naturally as breathing, and the household thrived on harmony, laughter, and warmth. Fletcher worked tirelessly managing his factory and business, ensuring his family wanted for nothing. Nora devoted herself to the children's upbringing and education, guiding their studies and nurturing their minds.
A year and a half later, Velora's younger brother Oscar was born. His laughter and tiny hands reaching for the world created a melody of family bliss. Velora watched over him with pride and protectiveness. The siblings formed a silent, tender bond, unspoken but unbreakable.
But life, which had seemed serene, began to shift. Fletcher gradually started to distance himself from Nora. He arrived home late, lost in his own world. Silence replaced warmth; arguments became frequent. Fletcher's anger echoed through the house, and though Velora and Oscar were young, they sensed the storm, their hearts shrinking in fear. Yet his love for Velora remained untarnished; he could never bear to see tears in her eyes.
Nora, meanwhile, poured her love into Oscar, leaving Velora to quietly navigate the turbulence of home life. Day by day, the arguments intensified. The laughter of children could no longer cover the rift growing between their parents.
Then came the revelation that would change everything. Nora, pregnant with their third child, discovered Fletcher's betrayal—he had been unfaithful just days before her delivery. Nora wept, but Fletcher refused to acknowledge his actions, manipulating her until she felt trapped. Yet life moved on—she gave birth to their son, Theo.
Luxury and wealth continued to shield the children. Expensive clothes, toys, and elite schooling filled their days. Nora played an essential role in their education, fulfilling what Fletcher, uneducated in academics, could not provide himself. But the cracks in their family widened.
Fletcher's temper escalated. One name—Sandy—was enough to ignite fury. He raised his hand at Nora. Velora and Oscar froze, their young minds too small to comprehend the chaos. They did not know who Sandy was, yet her presence had shattered the sanctuary of their home.
Despair overwhelmed Nora. One night, in desperation, she ingested a large number of sleeping pills, attempting to end her life. Fletcher, terrified, rushed her to the hospital. She survived, but the spark in her eyes—the warmth and light that had defined her—was gone.
At home, the air was thick with tension. Nora's depression turned her harsh; her anger spilled over onto Velora and her siblings. Fletcher still loved his children with all his heart, but his love for Nora had waned into distance and strain.
One day, in a fit of desperation, Nora screamed for a divorce. Fletcher, in anger, raised his hand once more. Velora froze. Divorce—a word foreign and incomprehensible to her. In her small mind, it seemed like an expensive toy, out of reach and impossible to grasp.
"Papa… please… give Mom a divorce!" She pleaded, her tiny hands reaching for him, her voice trembling.
For the first time, she heard the word spoken by those she loved. Divorce—a sound she could not understand. A whisper of a world too heavy for her innocence.
Her laughter trembled, her heart fractured. The very blood that had nurtured her now delivered trauma. The home that had cradled her first dreams became a storm that scarred her mind.
Eyes wide, heart fragile, Velora pleaded in vain, unaware of the weight behind grown-up pain. In that moment, childhood innocence was lost, yet life—harsh and unyielding—called her name.
Three more years passed. Velora was now nine, Oscar seven, and little Theo five. Yet the loud arguments, shouting, and occasional slaps still echoed through the house like a storm that never ended.
Coming home from school, Velora noticed the mess immediately.
"Oh… they had a fight again," she muttered, picking up a brush from the ground.
"This brush must've been thrown by Mom at Papa," Oscar added, tossing his bag onto the sofa.
Theo, drinking water casually, looked around. "Where's Mom?"
Both Velora and Oscar shrugged. "Don't know," they replied in unison, their expressions careful.
Just then, Nora emerged from her room. She smiled gently, but her eyes betrayed the pain she carried deep inside. Kneeling, she hugged each child and kissed their cheeks one by one.
"How was your day?" she asked softly.
"Good!" they chorused, voices bright despite the heaviness in the air.
"Go, change. Lunch is ready," she said, and they ran to their rooms.
Nora let out a deep sigh, hiding briefly behind the door to watch them. Yesterday, her sister had reminded her how arguments like theirs were stealing the children's innocence. Today, seeing Velora, Oscar, and Theo speak casually about the chaos, her heart ached. She promised herself she would try to focus on the kids, shielding them from the storm outside and within the home.
Velora's report card came next. She had a B+. Oscar had an A.
"Look at Oscar! You need to work harder, Velora," Nora said, praising Oscar and giving him a gift.
Velora felt the sting deep in her chest. She lowered her eyes in shame, her small shoulders slumping. In front of Fletcher, Nora continued to praise Oscar. But Fletcher noticed his daughter's pain and hugged her tightly.
"You did great too, my girl," he whispered, making her smile faintly.
From that day, Velora tried harder. But the daily fights of her parents began to take a toll. The shouting, slamming doors, and angry words seeped into every corner of her life.
One day, the argument escalated beyond control. Velora, trembling, ran outside barefoot, her small feet cutting against the rough ground. Standing in front of the main gate, she cried out, "HELP!"
Her body shook violently, tears streaming down her face. She ran as fast as she could to her grandparents' house.
Her grandparents were stunned. Her feet were bleeding, her face scratched, wet with tears.
"Granny… Mom… and Papa… they fought!" She stammered, trembling.
Her grandfather closed his eyes in pain, and her grandmother cried as she took in the sight of her beloved granddaughter.
They cleaned her, dressed her in fresh clothes, and slipped new shoes onto her small feet. Then their anger flared—not at Velora, but at the parents who caused her suffering. They scolded both Nora and Fletcher fiercely.
Fletcher's gaze softened when he looked at Velora. He said nothing, letting the room settle. Nora clung to Velora, crying. Velora's heart ached; she could never upset her father—he was her first love, her protector, her everything.
Weeks passed. Life regained a fragile calm, but the scars remained.
Velora held her report card tightly, trembling. She had earned an A. But fear clawed at her chest. What if Oscar scored higher? What if Mom gave him more love?
Her heart raced. Even small victories felt tainted by comparison.
"So… what's your result?" Oscar asked mischievously.
"You… got an A plus?" Velora whispered.
He nodded, grinning. Velora looked at her own card, the numbers and letters feeling meaningless compared to Oscar's praise.
At home, Oscar ran inside shouting, "Mom! I got an A plus!" Velora lingered at the door, clutching her card. Her mother showered Oscar with praise and even a small reward in cash. Velora swallowed hard, forcing herself to step inside with a composed face.
Inside, a quiet lesson lingered:
Sometimes, praise for one
casts a shadow on another.
Little hands reach for love.
and sometimes find only comparison.
Every child deserves to feel seen.
not measured.
Every achievement, no matter how small,
is a victory in their tender world