From the tip of my toes to the tips of my fingers trembling with the pain of breaking faith, the excitement of losing. I really want to run away from life, to disappear, to hide myself. The palace of lies that I have nurtured and built in my chest for nineteen years has crumbled and crumbled like a dry leaf in an instant. I’m more than just speechless. I am sweating with the thought of how to go to the office and look into Mr. Rahman’s eyes. Whom I am reprimanding sitting in the office yesterday. I regretted living with his greedy wife and children. Husband of a loving wife, being the father of a child caring for the father, I was proud of myself for a lifetime. I am Amjad Hossain. I work as a clerk in a private office. The salary is not high. Like tens of thousands. It goes without saying that there is no additional debt at all. I live in the district town. He has two children and a wife in the village. Big boy, little girl. The boy is in 10th class and the girl is in 5th class. Children’s education with their own expenses, family expenses, I can’t go on with such a low income. I ate Himsim. For that I do two tuitions before and after office. Not much income from tuition. 1000 to 2000 rupees. With which the children’s private salary is paid. I consider myself the happiest person in the world. I go home twice a month. The wife stays up all night for me, with two children. They also stay close to their mother’s body for many nights. When the father came, he brought chocolates and chips for them. They filled their hands and went to the room with them smiling. I want to do two more tuitions for such a holy smile on the faces of children. Knowing that it will be a sin, he wants to share some extra debt from the office. I stay home two days a month. The wife smiled and walked beside me. Cooking my favorite food. Trying to keep me happy. What more could a third-class employee like me want in life. I have known this fact for nineteen years. Because of this truth, everyone in the circle of friends is proud of me, some even envy me. Even friends with higher salaries are not so happy in personal life. The wife and child look only at the father’s pocket. If there is a shortage of money in any way, everyone’s lazy form comes out. I would suffer for them. It was a pity that the children could not be made human, the wife could not be explained in love. They have no additional demand. I was happy to nurture this lie inside for nineteen years. Today, when my friend’s son could not raise money for the operation, he was getting his hands on it. To me, the son’s school salary, the daughter’s teacher’s salary, seemed more important than the wife’s sari, paying for a friend’s son’s operation. So I went to the hospital and handed over the salary to Rajib and went straight home. Rajib’s son was the same age as my son for his own son. But on the way to school, his right leg was broken in a road accident. My son also goes to school on that bicycle. With a book of equal compassion, maya, love, affection, compassion, I left at night in my empty pocket and returned home to my wife and child. If necessary, I will pay the school salary after two days, or together next month. What will happen? It was three o’clock in the morning when I reached my house. Shaila knocked on the door and opened it. Shaila is my wife. Our nineteen years of family life. I may not have been able to give him abundance, but I never kept him in want. I married him and quit smoking. I saved that money and bought sari for her, bought cosmetics. Shaila likes to eat sweets, the day she comes home, if she can’t bring anything, she has brought one kg of sweets. Shaila would have been happy, I would have been satisfied to see her smiling face. Naturally, he spent the night like every time. The children are very happy to see their father in the morning. Because I was not supposed to come home today. I don’t come home except Thursday, but today is Tuesday. The boy came and handed over the list, his school salary, private teacher’s salary, picnic bill and a total of two thousand rupees. The girl handed over the list, her school dress had pen ink on it, she had to make it, she had to pay the private sir’s salary and it would cost her about two thousand rupees. Nothing more than the mother of the children. I can go to my father’s house for a while. The fruit must be five hundred for sweetness. After all the advances were over, I said naturally- ‘Father, spend this month somehow. I couldn’t even afford to go. Inshallah I will try to pay your teacher’s salary within the first fortnight of next month. No need to go on a picnic this year. Your uncle Rajiv … ‘ As soon as I finished speaking, the boy started to burn ‘What are you talking about? What should I tell Sir when I go to school? You have to go on a picnic, you have to pay! Today is the 29th of the month. The boy moved away from the front, growling angrily. Every time I called, he didn’t come. The girl is weeping and mourning for not being able to make a school dress this time. What would his girlfriends say? The sea of ​​sadness has descended in his eyes. The mother of the children is even more angry.