Chap­ter 31 unfolds as a brief moment of peace, offer­ing a wel­come respite from the usu­al chaos that engulfs life. Sat­ur­day night is spent in qui­et har­mo­ny, with the girls immersed in their read­ing, while I strug­gle with the com­plex­i­ties of Por­trait of an Old Crow. This rare calm pro­vides a fleet­ing sense of nor­mal­cy, and I savor the tran­quil­i­ty that fills our home. After endur­ing a life filled with con­stant tur­moil, expe­ri­enc­ing a lit­tle bore­dom is noth­ing short of mag­nif­i­cent. The still­ness in the air is a stark con­trast to the usu­al noise and upheaval, giv­ing me a taste of what it feels like to exist with­out the ever-present weight of stress.

How­ev­er, by Sun­day, opti­mism begins to cloud my judg­ment, mak­ing me feel reck­less and naive. Dad returns ear­ly from a con­struc­tion job that had been inter­rupt­ed by rain, and as we gath­er around for din­ner, he sug­gests a game night, rem­i­nis­cent of the fun we used to have at our grand­par­ents’ house. Camp­bell and I exchange a look, uncer­tain yet hope­ful that this ges­ture might indi­cate a shift, that the storm inside our home may final­ly be pass­ing. I silent­ly wish for some kind of warn­ing, a nar­ra­tor to cau­tion me when­ev­er I dare to hope, know­ing that moments of hap­pi­ness are often fol­lowed by chaos. There’s an unde­ni­able sense of ten­sion that fol­lows these brief bursts of joy, mak­ing it impos­si­ble to ful­ly relax and embrace the fleet­ing moments of peace.

The evening takes a turn when Dad starts search­ing for his wal­let, his frus­tra­tion build­ing as he real­izes it’s miss­ing. Mom sug­gests check­ing the truck, and as they head out­side to look, Camp­bell and I begin to search the house, feel­ing the ten­sion rise with each pass­ing minute. Despite our efforts, the wal­let remains elu­sive, deep­en­ing Dad’s irri­ta­tion and set­ting the mood for the evening. Just when it seems like the sit­u­a­tion might esca­late, Juniper finds the wal­let near the front door, claim­ing it must have fall­en from Dad’s jack­et. A wave of relief wash­es over us, but the brief moment of hap­pi­ness is quick­ly over­shad­owed as we dive into the game of Apples to Apples, our minds still slight­ly on edge. The joy of find­ing the wal­let doesn’t last, and the real­iza­tion that the peace we’ve briefly felt can be so eas­i­ly dis­rupt­ed hangs heavy in the air.

As the game pro­gress­es, the under­ly­ing sense of unease grows, as if we’re walk­ing on a frag­ile, rick­ety bridge that could col­lapse at any moment. The light­heart­ed atmos­phere quick­ly shifts when Dad paus­es dur­ing the game, his apol­o­gy for los­ing the cash in his wal­let sink­ing the mood back into seri­ous­ness. These apolo­gies have become a rou­tine part of our fam­i­ly dynam­ics, like a dance we all know too well, but the rapid­i­ty with which Dad offers them pro­vides a flick­er of hope—an indi­ca­tion that he rec­og­nizes his actions and their impact. Yet, despite the apolo­gies, the weight of unspo­ken ten­sion con­tin­ues to sim­mer beneath the sur­face, unad­dressed and unre­solved. Mom tries to redi­rect us back toward joy, but it’s clear that the unre­solved issues, espe­cial­ly Dad’s, con­tin­ue to shape the air around us. The scars from his upbring­ing, the anger he car­ries with him, are nev­er far behind, shap­ing the way we inter­act with one anoth­er and the way we nav­i­gate our rela­tion­ships.

The desire to break free from this cycle of inher­it­ed pain becomes ever more evi­dent, but the real­i­ty of our sit­u­a­tion often pulls us back. While try­ing to enjoy our time togeth­er, it’s impos­si­ble to ignore the phys­i­cal and emo­tion­al scars that hold us cap­tive, con­tin­u­ing to dic­tate our actions and emo­tions. In this chap­ter, the fleet­ing moments of joy are con­trast­ed with the deep-seat­ed strug­gles that remain unre­solved, leav­ing a sense of entrap­ment with­in the lega­cy of pain. Though we long for some­thing dif­fer­ent, it seems that the fear and anger passed down through gen­er­a­tions con­tin­ue to cast a shad­ow over our lives, affect­ing the rela­tion­ships that mat­ter most.