Divorce

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"Do the dishes," my mother told me forcibly, attempting to pretend that they weren't fighting again. As if it made a difference. I wasn't stupid; I knew exactly what was going on, but I did as I was told. The war began, voices escalating in both volume and fury. I tried focusing on putting each dish away, but the screaming became overwhelming entirely too quickly. I found myself stopping, and leaning against the kitchen wall, slowly sinking to the floor, tears beginning to make their way down my face. I cried out my fear; the only one I'd truly ever had. They were getting divorced now, just as I had expected. Even if I didn't let on that it scared me; wrecked me as much as it did, it still had that effect on me. I tried my best to not get upset, and when I did, to do it far away from where anyone could see me. But right now, I couldn't. I had to do something. I blurrily made my way to the living room, with tears clouding my eyes.

"Just stop it!" I choked out, confronting the two red-faced figures that towered over me. Tears continuously ran down my face now; far past any point of stopping. The figures took notice of my interruption and finally reacted.

"Look at what you've done!" My mother shrieked, beginning to stomp off angrily, until my father's next words stopped her.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he remarked quietly, and for a second, their eyes locked on each other in icy, unfamiliar glares. Then, without another word, she went up the stairs and disappeared leaving behind what was left of a family stuck in a tense silence.





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