It was a nice fall day in October. The air was still warm but autumn sent a cool breeze through the air. Colorful leaves covered the ground. I spent the day with my best friend. We would rake all the leaves into a pile and jump into them. Then we would throw the leaves in the air while we ran through and watched them float down gently to the ground. I laughed and enjoyed myself, completely unaware that my life would later be shattered into a million pieces.

I was 10 at the time, and I had just begun fourth grade. As a kid, I was pretty shy and reserved, but I was happy and carefree. I was born into and raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-Day Saints. Looking back on it, I would say that part of my life is what made me so naïve to the real world. Being part of the church, I would have never thought this would happen to my family.

My siblings and I came back home that night and our parents immediately sat us down at the table. At first we were all fine, but as I looked at my mom, then my dad, I could see the sorrow in their eyes. I know that something was wrong. My mom began explaining why her and my dad needed the house to themselves for the day. So many things had been wrong in their marriage. It was something they both knew but had not been able to talk about. My mom danced around the reason for discussion. She tried to say it, but each time she got to the point she would back out. After all her explanation, she didn’t need to say it. We already knew what they had decided. As the one word left my mom’s mouth, I swear I heard my heart shatter like a glass vase falling on the ground. My stomach first felt heavy and sank. This was followed by an overwhelming sickness and pain. Divorce. I had never known one single word could have so much power over me. I looked across the table at my dad who had his head bowed and his hands folded at the base of his skull. He sat in silence the whole time. The only thing that came out of his mouth was an occasional “I’m so sorry” with direct eye contact to my siblings and I. my mom could no longer speak. Her sobs of regret and pain overpowered her ability to talk or explain things any further. We didn’t need any more explanation, nor did we want it. The five of us sat at the table. We would sometimes make eye contact with each other. The room was filled with a deafening silence that was occasionally interrupted by the sniffling of running noses or gasps in our breaths. I looked over at my younger brother Jake. He was only eight years old at the time. His bright blue eyes were slightly hidden behind his long, thin blond hair. I saw the tears rolling down his cheeks from his bloodshot eyes. He had been the only person to not say a single word the whole night. Seeing my younger brother so sad, confused, and shaken up was a heart-breaking sight I will never forget. I can only imagine how difficult it was for my older sister, Jacque, to see her two younger siblings so broken up. She reached over to me under the table and grabbed my hands that were clenched in tight fists. She uncurled my right hand, gently intertwined her fingers through mine, and then squeezed tightly. In that moment we created an unbreakable bond. Without saying a word, she had told me she loved me and will protect me. I knew that from the way she grabbed my hand and held on tight. At that instance, my little sister, Breeann popped into my mind. She was only two years old. My baby sister will never have any memory of our parents being together. She will never get to know what it was like for our family to be whole. Even I have only faint memories of my mom and dad together. My poor sister, I felt so awful for her. Me, Jacque, and Jake all silently excused ourselves from the table and went upstairs into Jacque’s room. There we looked at each other in silence, broke down into tears and hugged. The rest of the night is a blur of sadness. The three of us crammed into one twin be because we had to near each other.

The next morning when I woke, my dad was gone and had checked into a hotel.