The moment we stepped into the house, I stormed towards the kitchen, ignoring the mouth-watering scent of my mom's cooking. My stomach protested, grumbling for a bie out of whatever she'd prepared. I, however, dumped the bags onto the marble counter and headed to the room, locking the door behind me.
To say I wanted to make a huge and dramatic scene was an understatement. I wanted to scream, to cry out in public so people would just know how much I was holding up inside of me. But no, I couldn't. I'd be ruining the image of being a perfect and innocent child.
And so, I shut myself in at first. But now that I was alone, I broke down into silent sobs. I'd learned how to be quiet when I cried so that no one, especially my parents, would hear me.
And it had come in use.