As I watched my dad drive away, leaving us again because he couldn’t deal with my mom, I was faced with the unknown. My heart was breaking as I watched his tiny white celica bobble down the street, watched as his tail lights faded into the night. My mom wanted him gone, laughed when he left, cursed his name in the dark. I didn’t know if he was coming back, if we were ever going to see him again, if he still loved us. Mom left us kids standing there on the crumbling driveway, where we waited for him to come back. Jackson didn’t understand, he was only four, so he wiped his tears and went back inside. Mackenzie was a teenager, and she never felt many emotions, didn’t care that he was leaving. She followed Jackson inside. It was just me and my brother, Joshua. We were both Dad’s kids by blood, and were the closest to him. My chest felt like it was caving in on itself, decaying because my heart was leaving me and my body was now dying. I found myself wondering, will he come back? will he come back? Tears fell down my cheeks, and I couldn’t find the power to wipe them away. My legs gave out and I fell to the ground, waiting for my dad to turn around and realize the mistake he was making. My hero was leaving me, abandoning me, because he couldn’t deal with my mom. Joshua looked at me, his tears reflecting mine, his little lips trembling. He asked me, “Will he come back? Will he come back?”

As I watched my mom being carried from our house on a stretcher, my dad falling apart, I was faced with the unknown. My heart was breaking as I watched my mother scream and cry and fight against the paramedics, begging them to let her die. Jackson was sobbing uncontrollably; his sixth birthday party did not go the way he wanted it to. I gathered him in my arms, my shirt getting wet from his tears. Joshua clung to me as well; I was all they had. Mackenzie cried by herself, resentment and anger on her features. Dad frantically ran around, trying to get to our mom, trying to make sure she would live. Two fire trucks, four police cars, and an ambulance crowded the street of our cul-de-sac. Neighbors looked at the scene from their doorways, their driveways, their windows. A neighbor guided us to their house, planting us safely in their living room so we wouldn’t witness anything else. I don’t know how long they were at the hospital, or when Dad came back. It was late, and Jackson had fallen asleep. Dad carried Jackson across the street to our home. We made it up the stairs and went into Mom’s room, where she had initially collapsed in a pill-induced seizure. Dad placed Jackson on the bed, tucking him in and staring at him for a moment. Finally, he dropped into the bed, producing a pack of cigarettes. Dad hadn’t smoked in years, but placed the cigarette between his tremulous lips without any hesitation. His brown eyes closed as he exhaled a shaky breath, sinking further into the bed. I found myself wondering, will she come back? will she come back? Dad opened his eyes, which were wet with tears. I had never seen him cry before. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. Go to bed, Jordan.”