In the haze of this peculiar dream, a woman’s voice seeped through the apartment door like smoke from a forgotten hearth, curling along the corridors that stretched and folded like breathing lungs in the old building: “What’s wrong with you this time?! How much longer can this go on?! I’m weary of it all!”
Jitka and Matěj were climbing the staircase at that instant, their steps suddenly arrested as though the air itself had thickened into an unseen barrier. Their eyes locked in a brief flicker, threads of unspoken accord weaving between them without sound. No need for words; the shared pulse told them to retreat. They exhaled in unison, a sound that drifted oddly through the warped space, then turned and slipped away from the entrance. That night, returning to their own doorway held no appeal in the dream’s shifting paths.
Who would choose to linger through endless parental storms? Not these two. They walked with steady resolve toward the neighboring entrance where their grandmother Kateřina dwelled. Her rooms had become a steady anchor amid the fog, drawing them in almost nightly rather than just on weekends as before.
The parental dwelling had warped into something suffocating, the walls seeming to pulse with raised voices that ignored the world outside. The parents hurled words at one another ceaselessly, and worse, they began tugging the children into the fray like puppets on invisible strings. At times the mother would pivot sharply toward her daughter, her demand echoing strangely: “Tell me I’m right, won’t you agree?” At others the father would press his son without pause: “No, I’m the one who’s correct here! Back me up!”
Jitka and Matěj held their silence, refusing to pick sides or dissolve into the endless swirl. They craved only quiet, warmth, and stillness, the kind that pooled in grandmother’s space like still water.
These clashes looped day after day, repeating like a scratched melody no one could halt. The siblings learned to read the omens: a certain edge in tone, a jerk in movement, the way glances crossed like sparks in dry air. All signaled the moment to slip away. What child would endure such constant strain, where ordinary talk could twist into thunder without warning?
They could not grasp what had sparked this unraveling. Their family had never matched the polished scenes in glowing windows, yet once the parents had known how to mend rifts. Quarrels arose but faded into measured talks over shared cups. Mother might furrow her brow, father lift his voice a notch, yet half an hour later calm returned, and they gathered again to sip and plan brighter days.
Roughly two years prior in the dream’s timeline, a subtle swap occurred, as if unseen hands had exchanged the old parents for hollow echoes who quarreled over nothing. A cup with dregs left on the table? Fuel for lectures on neglect. A garment on the wrong peg? Cause for barbed words about disorder. A spoon resting in the basin? A trespass demanding drawn-out judgment.
One evening Jitka sat in grandmother’s kitchen, stirring her tea in slow circles while watching amber eddies form and dissolve. After long quiet she spoke with a sharp edge: “How does this happen, grandmother? It all shifted after their trip together. What unfolded there?”
Kateřina paused, setting her cup down, and traced a gentle line along Jitka’s arm. She too held only guesses about the rift, guesses that brought no comfort. “Grown ones will untangle it,” she answered softly, steadying her tone. “Folk sometimes need space to see the better path.”
Jitka nodded, yet doubt lingered in her gaze. She sensed hidden layers but pressed no further. What use, when treated as small?
“We can’t bear the shouting anymore!” Matěj burst out in despair. “No focus for lessons, no quiet for a page! I can’t recall the last time we ate as one. If together they suffer so, let them part and ease us all!”
The words spilled freely, carrying the weight of recent months. Matěj voiced what both felt, for silence had fled their home long ago: mother’s sharp remark met father’s irritation, spawning another clash with no shelter.
“Matěj…” Kateřina set her knitting aside, studying him before shaking her head slowly. “Have you weighed what parting would mean? You two would be split. Can you face living apart from Jitka?”
“We’ll stay here with you!” Jitka declared at once, her eyes imploring. “We’re here most hours already! You wouldn’t mind, truly?”
Kateřina stilled. She saw their exhaustion plainly, the toll of unending storms. Here they would rest safe in steady air, lessons done without clamor, books read in peace, protected by care she offered freely. Yet the other side tugged: how to explain this to their parents? Would they consent? What shape would bonds take afterward? Might this choice sever ties completely?
“Let’s not hurry,” she sighed deeply. “You’re welcome always, you know. But first speak with your mother and father. Perhaps we can mend it together.”
“Don’t fret, we’ll handle the talk,” Jitka said with a bright smile, sensing agreement near. “Just don’t turn us away! We truly can’t remain there! Separate would suit them better, else one day harm might come. Yesterday I saw father lift his hand toward mother… He held back, I swear, yet stood at the brink.”
She fell quiet, the memory rising: entering the kitchen for water, freezing as father’s arm rose in half-turn, mother flinching low. The instant stretched like pulled taffy before the arm dropped.
“Grandmother, say yes!” Matěj urged, grasping her hand as if to anchor the choice. “We’ll aid with every task here. Only keep us from returning. They notice us little! Yesterday I told father of the parent meeting. He said ‘Ask your mother!’ So I did. What did she reply?”
“Ask your father?” Kateřina ventured softly, already certain.
“Precisely!” Matěj’s smile twisted. “They debated two more hours over who would attend, yelling across rooms while I stood between.”
“I sought signatures for the museum outing,” Jitka added, eyes down, fingers twisting her sleeve hem. “Now I’m alone in class without the trip. Neither signed, yet they clashed anew, mother claiming it father’s task, father insisting she manage school affairs.”
Kateřina observed the weariness etched in them, not the fleeting kind but layers built over time when days mirrored one another, warmth replaced by clamor, care by absence.
“It stays this way always,” Matěj murmured, shoulders sinking. “Every ask of ours ignites fresh quarrel. Home feels unwelcome. Days back we arrived late at night, yet no scolding came, only orders to bed without question of our whereabouts. Later they blamed each other for our raising.”
The pair sighed together once more. Lately they pondered divorce as the sole release, yet separation loomed as dread, one with mother, one with father, closeness reduced to scattered visits.
They whispered options in their room at dusk. Once Matěj jested about fleeing with packs into the unknown, smiling to ease the air. Jitka seized the notion gravely, eyes alight briefly: “What if we truly went? Even briefly…” Both grasped then how the home had frayed so that escape seemed almost sensible.
Insight arrived like a sudden glow: grandmother! Why not settle with her? The notion bloomed in both minds at once. Jitka voiced it: “Let’s ask to live here? She won’t raise voice or storm. No more endless clashes…” Matěj seized it: “Yes! She’s steady, always there for us. Her space is wide enough.”
They wove visions of new days: unhurried mornings, lessons in hush, evenings with games beside her. No shouts, no blame, no hiding from stray anger. Hope stirred after long stillness. Let parents untangle their own knots; the siblings would claim rest at last.
In the dream’s next turn, the twins faced their parents squarely: “Mother, father, we must speak plainly.” They had awaited an evening both were present and entered the main room with purpose. Jitka gripped Matěj’s hand for steadiness. “First promise to hear us fully before replying.”
Michal glanced up from his device, startled. Aneta, sorting items on the seat, rose abruptly, her face twisting as if the words defied sense.
“This stems from your guidance!” she snapped, arms folding. “Children now dictate terms, as though we must answer to them!”
“And who speaks thus!” Michal flared, setting the device aside. “I labor constantly to sustain us. You remained with them always! What lessons did you impart that they now command?”
The twins met glances, expecting the familiar slide into accusation. Yet retreat was barred.
“Cease!” Jitka cried, voice near breaking. She stepped ahead, forcing calm despite inner tremor. “Matěj and I have decided you must part ways.”
Stillness claimed the room. Aneta’s mouth hung open; Michal rose slowly.
“Such tidings!” the mother’s tone sharpened. “Jitka, you’re far too young to steer our path! What else have you ‘decided’? Perhaps split our dwelling too?”
“Should you refuse divorce, we’ll seek the authorities for children,” Matěj pressed his sister’s hand, drawing resolve. “Then father, your position may slip. Your firm dislikes turmoil, as you’ve noted, reputation matters.”
“And you, mother,” Jitka met her gaze, “neighbors will shun you. No one will speak! All hear your clashes; we’ll fill in the rest!”
“They threaten us! Behold them!” Aneta spat, eyes darting. “Our own! How dare you?”
“We issue no threat,” Matěj stated evenly. “We seek only your grasp: this cannot continue. We’re drained by voices you ignore, by pleas turning to uproar.”
“You’ll divorce, separate, and we’ll dwell with grandmother,” they chorused as practiced. “Better for all: our peace, your freedom from strife. No longer caught between your fires.”
Parents stood mute. Long had they volleyed words in such talks, yet now speech fled. Their young ones stood firm, hands linked, eyes steady where timidity once ruled, voicing weights adults had evaded.
The couple had weighed parting often, halted always by the question of the children. Dividing twins defied thought; their bond ran deep, shared deeds and bolstering constant. Parents could not envision one here, one there, meetings thinned to weekends.
Grandmother’s path had never surfaced before, lost in their own grievances. Now the proposal stirred: might it serve? She cherished them, held ample space, welcomed them always. Perhaps it eased some burdens.
“I’ll ring my mother,” Michal ground out. “If she consents…”
Aneta cut in, fatigue heavy in her words even to her own ears: “Then we’ll end this mutual torment. Call her. I’ll rejoice not seeing your face daily.”
Words lingered. She regretted the edge yet years of wounds had loosed them.
“And how I’ll rejoice!” Michal replied, cloaking ache in wry tone, no rage but bitter mirth at what their bond had become. He drew his device and dialed slowly. Rings sounded while both averted gazes, sensing a threshold crossed.
That day the Havran household sealed its turning. It opened with Michal’s extended talk to Kateřina. She listened without break, querying only now and then.
When he finished, quiet held. Grandmother breathed deep: “If both see this aids the children, I consent. They’ll rest safe; I’ll watch over them.”
By dusk the pair met in the kitchen, no shouts or barbs for once. They faced each other and traced steps. Bit by bit they settled: parting as the sole clear route. Children would shift to grandmother, parents sending monthly sums in Czech korunas for their keep.
Neither would abandon them. Both pledged weekend visits, staggered to lessen overlap.
“I’ll fetch them Saturday for outings, you Sunday,” Michal said wearily; Aneta nodded. “This keeps it simple. They must not feel cast aside.”
Aim was minimal exchange to dodge fresh storms. No talk of one another before the children, no pulling sides, no airing in their sight.
“Still their parents,” Michal noted. “We remain so even without marriage.”
Time proved the choice sound. The siblings eased at last, living as typical youths. Jitka joined a drawing circle, long wished for but blocked by prior strains. Matěj took up football, gaining teammates. They roamed together again, films and school talks free of sudden breaks.
Studies steadied too, quiet space for tasks, no shouts intruding. Work flowed without strain, grades lifting. Teachers remarked the shift: “Such focus now, you two! Hold steady!”
Life settled into even flow, not flawless yet steady. No more hiding, flinching, or fretting steps. They simply moved forward, teens finding ground amid turbulence.
Five years on, the Havran days ran even. Jitka and Matěj had settled into rhythm: learning, circles, companions, calm hours with grandmother. Parents visited staggered, gifts and notice without old barbs. They had gained measured speech, polite and free of prior heat.
First direct meeting of the former pair came at the twins’ school farewell. The hall hosted the event; both attended. They began wary, seats apart, yet tension eased gradually.
As dances started, Michal approached Aneta: “Might we step together? Recall earlier times.”
She paused, then inclined her head.
After, they lingered in the yard, watching graduates circle the fountain. Talk arose naturally, first on the children, then earlier days. They spoke long, recalling bright stretches of their union, behaving with grace. Words turned to what had once bound them, not old wounds. From afar the twins watched, glad yet pained to see close ones regard each other as near foes.
Thunder broke the calm next day. Michal and Aneta summoned the children to a cafe. Over tea they clasped hands, and Michal smiled broadly: “Children, we’ve reflected and chosen to wed anew. Years have shown our bond endures! We love still and seek to reunite as family.”
Joy laced his tone, as sharing life’s peak. Aneta glowed, awaiting delight.
Twins glanced across, faces clouding. Doubt crossed Jitka’s look; Matěj’s hands tightened below. The same snare again! What stirred in parental minds? Could they share space without storms?
“Truly?” Jitka managed.
“Without doubt,” Michal affirmed. “We’ve shifted. Learned to heed one another. We seek another try for us all.”
Silence held the children. Inner clash: hope for real change warred with dread of old pain returning.
Yet they offered no discouragement, no comment even, wounding the parents deeply. Aneta gazed bewildered: “You’re not pleased? We expected joy for us.”
Twins merely looked between themselves and lifted shoulders. What reply fit? “Don’t! You’ll break yourselves”? Throat closed; they shunned coldness yet couldn’t feign ease.
Talk faltered till end. Parents outlined plans; children nodded distantly. Homeward Jitka whispered: “May they grasp their steps.”
Matěj exhaled only.
“Thus we head for Prague?” Jitka opened her device to scan university pages. “Away from this whirl. I foresee the circus’s close!”
“Indeed we go,” Matěj affirmed, weariness beyond years in his sound. He passed hand through hair as shedding recent load. “They’ll hold peace a month, two at most. Then fresh: voices, slams, charges… I refuse hostage role in their ties. No more dawns guessing moods and who’ll bear the next wave.”
He rose, pacing while gathering scattered books. One notion circled: why do those meant as steady guides act as restless youths? Why loop the same missteps instead of resolving?
“We must depart,” he repeated at the window where dusk tinted the city soft orange. He peered outward as if tracing his path ahead. “Distant enough their storms can’t touch. Let them manage. We’re done as their counselors, go-betweens, shields. Our paths, our visions belong to us; I won’t yield them to another parental cycle.”
“When submit papers?” Jitka asked evenly.
“Tomorrow,” he answered at once. “To lock the choice.”
She nodded, gaze on the screen where Prague university listings scrolled. She had pored over courses, lodgings, later prospects a week now. Her notes held lists of merits and drawbacks, needed forms, dates, office contacts.
“Chief is steady learning, free of their tangles,” she murmured as summing. “Fortunate we’ll be removed.”
“Rightly,” Matěj agreed, settling beside. He leaned to scan lines. “When they resume blame games, we’ll hear nothing. Let them ring, vent, summon ‘family talks’ we’re absent. Their wish to ‘renew the bond’ is theirs alone.”
Aneta and Michal did hold the second ceremony. They chose restraint: no grand outlay, no spotlight, no sense of need for spectacle. Modest registry rite and meal with nearest only.
Photos showed them content, smiles and linked hands, looks of warmth. Intertwined fingers, soft eyes, brief contacts filled frames. Grievances seemed shed, separation years helpful, future clear and bright. Children viewing them wondered if this time held true.
Yet no. Early weeks after passed oddly still: spouses attentive, thanks frequent, no small nips. Habits crept back though. Within a month raised tones returned. First quiet barbs: “Left mess again?”, “No warning of delay?”, “Aid since idle.”
Open clashes followed. Spats over trifles: damp cloths in washroom, missed bread, loud device. Words cut deeper, voices swelled, gaps between shrank.
Two months in, as foreseen, heat peaked. Evening quarrel over provisions swelled to gale. Michal hurled a cup at the wall in fury; it shattered, fragments spraying. Aneta seized a plate, dashed it down. Breaking sounds rang through.
Thereafter parents always rang the children. Each call began alike: one dialed breathless, spilling stored hurts.
“Imagine his words today?” Aneta would weep to Jitka. “No effort to grasp me!”
“Son, understand, she can’t hold reins,” Michal would press Matěj. “I strive, yet she hunts cause!”
The twins mastered gentle but firm halts. No long dives, no judging sides. Replies stayed brief, solid.
“Mother, lesson now, later perhaps,” Jitka said evenly, eye on time with room to spare yet no wish for monologue.
“Father, pressing task, weekend then,” Matěj replied, screen fixed. He knew full vent would stretch an hour, then soothe needed.
“Later” and “weekend” slid always. Excuses flowed: learning, side work, friends. Calls thinned. No guilt touched the twins; they guarded their balance, knowing change lay beyond their reach between mother and father.
Their own days thrived, full and clear, distant from old dramas. Each unfolded in personal cares and aims, not awaiting next clash.
Jitka sank into psychology depths. She relished tracing soul workings, motives, aids for the strained. Third year she volunteered at a center for teens from troubled homes. She guided groups, helped voice feelings and exits from knots. She glimpsed her past in them, offering what she had missed: heed, backing, sense of being heard.
Matěj turned to IT realms. Early on code logic drew him, building systems, untangling puzzles. Hours at screens, new tongues, student contests. Fourth year his group placed third regionally for mobile tools, bolstering him onward. Part work at a small firm followed, where he proved reliable, handling projects, colleagues, time, odd fixes.
They plotted ahead unbound by parental storms. Jitka envisioned her own aid for families finding accord. Matěj eyed independent ventures. Talks over tea wove schemes, notes filled. In those stretches they sensed foundation, direction, life their own.
When Aneta and Michal sought to draw them in once more, tears and tales of mutual incomprehension, the twins met them steady. They had planned the stance to avoid slip or old mediator part.
“Enough, parents dear, handle your own,” Jitka stated firm. “Your days, ours.”
“But our children!” Aneta wept. “You must back us!”
“Had you acted as grown, not small ones, we’d back you,” Matěj countered. “Error in remarrying, and you keep wounding each other. Can’t share space without harm, so why prolong? Part and separate already.”
The words might cut, yet brother and sister sought only calm days.
