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ONE
LISS
Thirteen Years Old
“You swore you wouldn’t do it again, Mitch.”
My mom’s broken words bled into the hallway where I sat perched on the fourth step from the top, my head resting against the wooden bannister. Her pained sobs intensified while my dad remained noticeably silent, no doubt conjuring up another lame excuse, preparing another fake apology. My grip tightened around the railing, the hard edges of the wood biting into my palms.
Tears of frustration built behind my lids, spilling over onto my cheeks. I twisted my neck and pressed my forehead into the wood, hard enough that a flash of pain erupted from the spot and radiated across my face. Then I focused my attention on that. Because physical pain was easier to deal with. Easier to understand.
How could he keep hurting her the way he did? Didn’t he see it? Didn’t he hear the symphony of her heart breaking? Every time I’d sat on these steps, I’d asked myself the same question. How could he witness the pain his actions inflicted, then do it all over again? Time and time again.
He’d always gush about how much he loved her, how sorry he was, how it would never happen again.
It was all lies.
I doubted he even had a heart. And if he did, it beat for no one but himself.
He loved being the big shot lawyer in a mid-size firm, where a rotation of secretaries kept his desk warm and his ego fat, uncaring that he had a wife and kids. With his styled blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and alluring charm, no one could resist. And neither could he.
I hated him for it. I hated that he betrayed my mom’s trust and took her love for granted. I hated that he was so self-involved, so distant and unfeeling.
I hated that my mom wasn’t enough, that we weren’t enough. That… I wasn’t enough.
If he’d ever hugged me, I couldn’t remember it. I couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t looked right through me as if I weren’t even there. His family were a burden to him, at best.
“Melinda,” he finally said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
The blood in my veins heated as a vision of how the next ten minutes would go played out in my head. He’d apologize, blame the stress of work, the long hours, maybe the lack of attention from my mom, or even the women he cheated with, and their relentless advances.
I’d heard it all, every excuse in the book.
He’d say whatever my mom needed to hear to brush it under the carpet. He knew she would. She always did, even knowing he’d do it again.
It was sickening. I straightened my spine and brushed my hands over my damp cheeks, then laid them flat on my bent legs.
I loved my mother, but I could never be like her.
“This one’s… different, Mel.”
My shoulders tensed, fingernails digging into my thighs.
“What?” My mom’s thin voice trembled. “What does that mean, Mitch?”
I waited, my ears straining for the words, my heart slowing in my chest.
“I’m saying I want a divorce, Melinda.”
Air rushed up through my nostrils, making me dizzy.
“A divorce?” my mom shrieked. “What? I don’t understand.”
“I’m in love with her, Melinda. And…” My father paused, clearing his throat. He sounded uncomfortable. “She’s pregnant.”
Never, in all the times I’d eavesdropped on one of these confrontations, had I heard my mom fall apart so spectacularly.
“No!” The wail tore from her. “No, Mitch. Please, no. Please don’t do this.” Her agonized cries cut through me like nails on a chalkboard. She begged him to stay, promised to be better for him, swore to forgive him.
I fastened my palms over my ears. I couldn’t listen to it anymore.
My heart beat out a dull thud against my breastbone as I drew in a breath and rose to my feet, a steely calm borne of quiet despair washing over me. I climbed the steps and moved down the hallway into my parent’s room, reaching up on my toes and closing my fingers around the handle of the suitcase in the storage closet.
It landed on the pillow top mattress with a light plop, and then I moved—emotionless—and systematically emptied the room of Mitchell Bedford. I stuffed everything I could find into the overflowing case, then dragged it to the floor and perched a knee on top of it to tug the zipper shut. Then I dragged it down the hall.
It bounced on each step, making a loud thumping sound, but I doubted they’d hear it. My mom’s pleading cries drowned out everything else.
When I reached the door, I heaved the suitcase inside and gave it a shove.
The scene that confronted me would be forever etched into my brain. My mom on her knees, sobbing into my father’s brown loafers. My dad’s head hanging back off his shoulders, his manicured fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he just wanted it to be over.
