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Her Name Was Always August

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Nabiha Irna

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“Emma swallowed hard. A lump formed in her throat, but she forced herself to breathe. “Why do you do that?” Mark tilted his head. “Do what?” Emma stepped closer, her voice trembling just slightly. “Push people away before they can leave.” Mark smirked again, but this time, it barely reached his eyes. “Because they always leave.”

“Forty-Three Candles Even silence aches when it’s the only thing that comes to visit. The clock gnaws each minute mother’s hands tremble like autumn leaves, father’s voice an old radio fading to static. Your family orbits other suns, siblings stitch their lives into quilts you weren’t asked to hold. The room grows teeth. Walls hum with static, while your phone stays stubborn as stone. Is this freedom? An unlocked door too heavy to push. You swallow the quiet, let it pool in your ribs a language without translation.”

“How many of us dads feel alone, depressed, anxious, overwhelmed, overstimulated, or burned out, like we’re dragging our feet, speechless, doubting our abilities, or just flat-out tired? I know it has to be a lot of us, because every dad I talk to mentions feeling like this multiple times, week in and week out. Turn over to social media, and you will find forums, groups, and influencers supporting dads feeling this way. It is a reality that being a dad is hard work and it wears on you. Support is what we need, but it seems impossible to find.”