Throughout the broadcast, the twenty-seven-year-old man repeatedly struggled to breathe past the tightness in his chest. The radio host was right—tonight, someone had touched his wound. It hurt terribly, but it brought a little relief. Hayom's memories wandered back twenty years.
It was the school break after he had completed kindergarten. He was a happy seven-year-old, excited to start elementary school. He spent the vacation playing with Kala, his two-year-old little sister.
“Mom … Kala’s being fussy,” Hayom called to his mother.
His mother came without asking what had happened. The woman’s face looked pale. Not a trace of a smile showed. Their house had been quiet for days. No chatting, no conversation, let alone jokes. Kala had also been fussier than usual.
Hayom knew the atmosphere in their home had changed. He chose to stay quiet. He didn’t think too much about it, like any little boy who had only just finished kindergarten.
As soon as Kala fell silent, the woman went back to the bedroom. Hayom didn’t ask what his mother was doing. He continued helping his little sister put together her LEGOs.
“Mala, where are you going?” A shrill voice from the bedroom startled Hayom.
“I’m leaving!” his mother shouted back, just as loudly.
Hayom walked over, guiding his little sister, who was still holding a LEGO piece. He peeked through the crack in the door. His mother had already packed a large bag. Dad and Mom stared at each other, their gazes sharp.
“Don’t be childish, Mala! You’ve been quiet since yesterday. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, and now all of a sudden you want to leave?” Mr. Idris demanded, his voice thick with emotion. “What did I do wrong?”
Mrs. Mala gave him a sardonic smile. “Only now you’re asking what you did wrong? It’s pointless! It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m still leaving.”
“Fine, if you’re leaving, but let the kids stay here!” Mr. Idris’s tone didn’t soften at all.
“I never intended to take them with me,” Mrs. Mala replied calmly.
Mr. Idris was stunned. He hadn’t meant it that way. He only wanted his wife to stay by his side.
“Th-that’s not what I meant, Mala. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please don’t go.” Mr. Idris’s voice dropped this time. “What will I do if you leave? What about the kids? Hayom’s about to start elementary school, and Kala’s still a toddler. They need their mother so much. Who’s going to take care of them? Don’t you feel sorry for them?”
Mrs. Mala, who had seemed strong until then, began to shed tears. Her face remained blank. Her gaze was empty.
“What did you say? What will you do? What about the kids?” Mrs. Mala smiled bitterly. “Then what about me all this time? Have you ever thought about what I was going through, even once? Did you think the kids didn’t need their father all this time? Have you ever felt sorry for them, when you so often ignored them? You’re here, but you’ve never truly been there for them!”
Hayom wanted to cry. He hugged his little sister. He was terrified.
“Now let me go. I want to think about myself, too. And I …” Mrs. Mala sobbed. “I’d feel even worse if the children stayed with me.”
Mrs. Mala stepped outside. She stopped in front of the door, startled to see both her children there.
“Hayom, Kala … Mom loves you. Forgive me.” Mrs. Mala embraced them both and kissed them one by one.
“Mom, don’t go …” Little Hayom whimpered as he chased after his mother while she walked away. “Mom, Hayom loves you. Don’t leave us, Mom.” He sobbed uncontrollably.
“Mom … Mom …” Two-year-old Kala began to cry, too. Her voice was even louder than her brother’s. Ever since she was born, her mother had never once left her behind.
From inside the bedroom, Mr. Idris kept shouting. He smashed everything that remained in the room. Rage had taken control of him.
That day became the most painful day of Hayom’s life. He had never imagined that the embrace and kisses he received from his mother would be the last he would ever feel.
From that moment on, Hayom always waited for his mother in front of the door. He left it open, just as it had been when she left. Hoping she would come back. Until at last, he realized that the door wasn’t waiting for his mother to return—it was waiting for him to stop hoping. The bitter truth Hayom came to understand was that leaving the front door open would not bring his mother back. It only let the storm of his disappointed waiting drag him outside.