It came on March 5, 2006. I was almost 16 years old, and devastated. It was about eight o’clock at night on a Sunday. I was in the living room with my father and my brother, mom was down the hall in the office working on paying bills, and we had just eaten dinner. It was when my father said, “Go get your mother, we need to talk to you guys,” that I knew I was right all along. It was that night that changed the rest of my life, and left me with a different grasp on life. That night, my father told my brother and me that they were separating. In the past I would dream of what it was like if it was just my mom and I and thought of how amazing it would be, but I couldn’t have been more wrong, it all sucks.
When my father told me that they were going to separate, all I could do was run down the narrow, blue, hallway to the end where my room was. I slammed the door shut with a bang and climbed up into my black metal loft. I just cried wet, salty tears and looked around my small gecko green colored room at everything I possessed. I have a desk full of books, a closet full of clothes, and pictures all over my room of my happy family. Most of my tears would well up in my eye and then when the pools would get too big, they would rupture, just like a damn. It was during this silent cry that I heard my brother telling my mom and dad, “She already knew you two were separating.”