September 11, 2025
6 days ago
The Silence Between February and September
Marko
For months I could not bring myself to write. The last post on this blog was in February, and now, suddenly, September has arrived. On the outside, it may have looked like silence. But inside that silence, everything was burning, twisting, collapsing, and reshaping at the same time. These months were filled with so much pain and confusion that I barely knew how to hold a pen, let alone tell the story.
The truth is, my mother’s life, and with it mine, has been thrown into turmoil. My stepfather, the man who had once been part of our family, decided to walk away. He did not walk away quietly, he walked away with destruction in his hands. He has a new partner. And I do not know who she really is. All I know is the feeling that she came to take, not to give. She pushes him into greed, and I can sense the coldness of her presence even when she is not in the room. I cannot say for certain what her intentions are, but in my heart it feels like poison.
My mother wanted peace. She wanted dignity. She went to one of the best lawyers in the country and tried to make an offer that would have given him more than enough. He rejected it. He did not want fairness. He wanted more. He wanted to crush her. He even demanded the money he once transferred to their shared account back, as if love, marriage, and shared years could be erased like numbers on a bank statement. He is building his world on lies, and watching it unfold has been unbearable.
All of this consumed our lives. Every phone call was about the divorce. Every visit to my mother was about documents, meetings, and endless worries. I felt like my own strength was being stolen from me. My energy went into fighting shadows, into protecting what little was left of our family’s dignity. And the worst part is that all this anger and grief began to spill over into my own life, into the people I love the most.
In the middle of all this chaos, we tried to breathe. We tried to escape, even if only for a short time. We traveled. First to Hungary, twice, to the Ensana Thermal Hotel. There we could sit in warm water, close our eyes, and imagine for a few hours that we were safe, that nothing could reach us. Later we flew to Belek in Turkey, staying almost two weeks by the sea. The food was not for us, but the ocean gave us a kind of peace we desperately needed. The hotel was beautiful, and for moments at a time, life felt lighter. But even in those moments, small pieces of disappointment reminded us of the world we could not escape. We had booked a trip to the Green Canyon, something we had looked forward to with excitement. On the morning of the trip, at seven o’clock, we stood ready, waiting. The bus never came. We waited for an hour, only to be told the bus had gone to the wrong place. No canyon, no journey, and even today, no money back. It may seem small compared to everything else, but when life already feels unfair, each little injustice cuts deeper.
Coming home after that felt like coming up for air. Soon after, we made a short trip to Slovenia. That weekend changed something inside me. I drove a Tesla for the very first time. Sitting in that car felt like stepping into the future. The silence of it, the power, the way it felt to drive — I suddenly realized I no longer wanted my BMW. I no longer wanted the past. I wanted something new, something different, something that represented hope.
And then came my birthday. The day after, I took time off from work, hoping for rest. Instead, I was hit with one of the most shocking experiences of my life. My BMW started leaking diesel in the middle of a shopping center parking lot. I stood there, staring at the spreading fuel, paralyzed with fear. I had to call the fire brigade. Watching them arrive and take over left me shaken to my core. It was as if the universe was screaming at me: let go of this car, let go of what is broken, let go of what is dragging you down. That very day we finally ordered our Tesla. Soon it will arrive, and with it, a new chapter.
But even as new chapters open, old battles do not let go so easily. My mother’s divorce continued to weigh on me, pulling me deeper into anger and despair. It began to bleed into my relationship with my partner. And then came the darkest moment of all. In the middle of a fight, in the middle of exhaustion and words spoken too fast, she told me she would leave me. My heart stopped. Those words cut me deeper than anything my stepfather could ever take from us. Because losing her, losing the woman I love and the mother of our little boy, would mean losing everything that keeps me standing.
We have a son, just three and a half years old. He is the light of my life. He is the reason I breathe, the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I keep fighting even when I feel like falling apart. When I looked at him after that argument, I knew. I cannot allow the poison of my stepfather’s greed to seep into my own home. I cannot allow my mother’s broken marriage to break my relationship. I have to protect what we have, I have to hold on to it with everything I have, because family is the only thing that matters.
These past months have been the hardest of my life. They have been filled with betrayal, anger, exhaustion, fear, and heartbreak. But in the middle of it all, there have also been moments of love, moments of discovery, and moments of truth. I learned that sometimes a car can symbolize more than just a way to drive. It can represent letting go of the past and stepping into the future. I learned that vacations are not just about travel. They are about breathing again when life is suffocating you. And most of all, I learned that nothing in this world is more important than the people you hold close.
This silence between February and September was not empty. It was filled with storms. It was filled with lessons. And above all, it was filled with the realization that I must protect my family, focus on love, and refuse to let the darkness take over.
Family is everything. Without it, there is nothing.
The truth is, my mother’s life, and with it mine, has been thrown into turmoil. My stepfather, the man who had once been part of our family, decided to walk away. He did not walk away quietly, he walked away with destruction in his hands. He has a new partner. And I do not know who she really is. All I know is the feeling that she came to take, not to give. She pushes him into greed, and I can sense the coldness of her presence even when she is not in the room. I cannot say for certain what her intentions are, but in my heart it feels like poison.
My mother wanted peace. She wanted dignity. She went to one of the best lawyers in the country and tried to make an offer that would have given him more than enough. He rejected it. He did not want fairness. He wanted more. He wanted to crush her. He even demanded the money he once transferred to their shared account back, as if love, marriage, and shared years could be erased like numbers on a bank statement. He is building his world on lies, and watching it unfold has been unbearable.
All of this consumed our lives. Every phone call was about the divorce. Every visit to my mother was about documents, meetings, and endless worries. I felt like my own strength was being stolen from me. My energy went into fighting shadows, into protecting what little was left of our family’s dignity. And the worst part is that all this anger and grief began to spill over into my own life, into the people I love the most.
In the middle of all this chaos, we tried to breathe. We tried to escape, even if only for a short time. We traveled. First to Hungary, twice, to the Ensana Thermal Hotel. There we could sit in warm water, close our eyes, and imagine for a few hours that we were safe, that nothing could reach us. Later we flew to Belek in Turkey, staying almost two weeks by the sea. The food was not for us, but the ocean gave us a kind of peace we desperately needed. The hotel was beautiful, and for moments at a time, life felt lighter. But even in those moments, small pieces of disappointment reminded us of the world we could not escape. We had booked a trip to the Green Canyon, something we had looked forward to with excitement. On the morning of the trip, at seven o’clock, we stood ready, waiting. The bus never came. We waited for an hour, only to be told the bus had gone to the wrong place. No canyon, no journey, and even today, no money back. It may seem small compared to everything else, but when life already feels unfair, each little injustice cuts deeper.
Coming home after that felt like coming up for air. Soon after, we made a short trip to Slovenia. That weekend changed something inside me. I drove a Tesla for the very first time. Sitting in that car felt like stepping into the future. The silence of it, the power, the way it felt to drive — I suddenly realized I no longer wanted my BMW. I no longer wanted the past. I wanted something new, something different, something that represented hope.
And then came my birthday. The day after, I took time off from work, hoping for rest. Instead, I was hit with one of the most shocking experiences of my life. My BMW started leaking diesel in the middle of a shopping center parking lot. I stood there, staring at the spreading fuel, paralyzed with fear. I had to call the fire brigade. Watching them arrive and take over left me shaken to my core. It was as if the universe was screaming at me: let go of this car, let go of what is broken, let go of what is dragging you down. That very day we finally ordered our Tesla. Soon it will arrive, and with it, a new chapter.
But even as new chapters open, old battles do not let go so easily. My mother’s divorce continued to weigh on me, pulling me deeper into anger and despair. It began to bleed into my relationship with my partner. And then came the darkest moment of all. In the middle of a fight, in the middle of exhaustion and words spoken too fast, she told me she would leave me. My heart stopped. Those words cut me deeper than anything my stepfather could ever take from us. Because losing her, losing the woman I love and the mother of our little boy, would mean losing everything that keeps me standing.
We have a son, just three and a half years old. He is the light of my life. He is the reason I breathe, the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I keep fighting even when I feel like falling apart. When I looked at him after that argument, I knew. I cannot allow the poison of my stepfather’s greed to seep into my own home. I cannot allow my mother’s broken marriage to break my relationship. I have to protect what we have, I have to hold on to it with everything I have, because family is the only thing that matters.
These past months have been the hardest of my life. They have been filled with betrayal, anger, exhaustion, fear, and heartbreak. But in the middle of it all, there have also been moments of love, moments of discovery, and moments of truth. I learned that sometimes a car can symbolize more than just a way to drive. It can represent letting go of the past and stepping into the future. I learned that vacations are not just about travel. They are about breathing again when life is suffocating you. And most of all, I learned that nothing in this world is more important than the people you hold close.
This silence between February and September was not empty. It was filled with storms. It was filled with lessons. And above all, it was filled with the realization that I must protect my family, focus on love, and refuse to let the darkness take over.
Family is everything. Without it, there is nothing.