Twice a week, my father would leave the house for a few hours and return full of energy and in high spirits. Soon, his secret was revealed.
I was ten at the time, and my older brother was twelve. He spent his days playing outside, while I helped Mum with chores at home. Dad worked long hours at the factory, coming back late in the evening. Mum would set the table, and wed sit down for supper together. Afterwards, Dad would slip on his polished leather shoes, linger by the mirror, and leave without a word. Mum would glare at the door with quiet frustration. I wondered where he went and why she reacted that way. Later, hed return in good spirits. One evening, I finally asked Mum why she was cross whenever he left.
She sighed and said, «Your father has a girlfriend.» I couldnt believe ithe adored her. It didnt make sense. So the next time he left, I followed him. He turned toward the Royal Opera House and disappeared inside. I hesitated, unsure whether to follow, when suddenly a gentle hand touched my shoulder. Turning, I saw a striking womana famous actress. With her, I stepped inside and found a hall packed with people.
There, on stage, was my father. I had no idea he was an opera singerand a brilliant one at that. He sang an aria, lost in the music, unaware I sat teary-eyed in the back row. When he finished, the applause roared, and he bowed, accepting bouquets. After the performance, we strolled through Hyde Park, laughing, before heading home. I whispered to Mum, «He doesnt have a girlfriendhe goes to the theatre.» She smiled softly and whispered back, «I know.»
Sometimes, what seems like betrayal is just a hidden passionone that brings light, not harm.
