There was a crash downstairs, followed by a shriek and then more yelling. I closed my eyes against the tears and continued throwing stuff into my suitcase. Wasn’t taking much. Just my clothes and the four thousand dollars in twenties. I would start my life when I got there. I didn’t need to cart my past with me.

“You’re making her leave! Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

“It isn’t me! You—”

I slammed my suitcase shut. I was done, out of here, hello New York. I walked out of my bedroom and down the stairs, past my bickering parents, past the screaming, past the bitterness that was so thick in the air you were almost having to wade through it.

I tossed my bag into the back of my small Honda, and got inside. My parents ran outside, but I just turned the key in the ignition and ignored their pleas. I wasn’t here to hold them together. I couldn’t even hold myself together.

As I drove, I saw him. He knew, but he watched me anyway, and the tears that wouldn’t fall earlier fell now.