I Can Smell Your Lies
Language: en
I was born with a nose that didn't just smell the world; it smelled the heart. I could map the landscape of a person’s soul through the scents of their emotions—the sharp sting of resentment, the cloying sweetness of joy, the dusty bitterness of grief. But after Dad had his affair, the air in our house changed forever. My mother began brewing a bitter, boiling-hot cleansing tea every single night, mixing it with the ashes of burnt prayer papers. She would force it down my father’s throat, pressing the scalding ceramic mug against his lips until they blistered and turned white. "Drink it,…