She was a tiny, disgruntled figure in the distance, dwarfed by the long, drawling shadows that stretched from one tree to the next. Her little arm shot up in a wave of farewell. I didn't have the heart to return it, but my father did it for me.

"You won't see her again. I hope you realize that," he said softly.

I shook my head and turned my back on the lonely silhouette of my mother. I didn't want to see. "We should go now. It's starting to get dark." My voice held a slight tremor.

My father's warm hand rested firmly on my shoulder. "I hope you let all of your goodbyes out. They'll rot in your chest if you hold them back."

"I've said all of them," I muttered through a tight throat. I hadn't said a single word to my mother. We had only looked at each other, our eyes brimming with unshed tears, our tongues heavy with unsaid words. Now, it was too late to run back and release the torrent of memories and regrets. "Papa, it's time to go."

There was a long pause. His hand left my shoulder, leaving a warm imprint. "You're right. Come on," he agreed finally.

So we set off into the distance, watched carefully by the unforgiving sun, escaping from the demons that soon swallowed my mother. My old life was gone.