“What the heck were you thinking? How could you do this? Were you even considering the consequences?” My mom’s shrieks echo around the house, piercing my ears like pieces of glass, each word razor-sharp, cutting into my soul.    

 Hiding in my room, I burrow myself deeper into my covers, eyes screwed up tight, hands clamped around my ears. Please make it stop, I prayed. Just do anything. Please.

Downstairs, my father rages back at her, his normally light tone distorted by anger. “How could I do this? You were the one who put all that money in the broker deal!” Moments later I hear a crash and a plate shatter. I can hear the plate breaking into hundreds of pieces,just like my heart. And I know that plate can never be fully fixed ever again.

My parents continue screaming, their voices ascending louder and louder, both saying terrible, terrible things to each other. I hear every single word. Their voices merge in a grotesque harmony, shrieking and shouting and screeching, until I hear my mom unmistakably yell,

            “Get out! Now! I don’t ever want to see your face ever again!”                        

I hear pounding footsteps to the garage, each one sending chills through my body. Is Dad actually gonna leave? I bite down on my tongue so hard it starts bleeding, but that pain is nothing compared to the one in my chest. I hear a car door slam. But louder than that, louder even than the yelling, is the silence. It’s the sudden stillness in the air in sharp contrast to the cacophony of shouts a moment ago. It presses down on me, whispering in my ear, “Your dad’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

Six days have passed. There’s no word from my dad. Each day without him is as if a huge weight has fallen onto my shoulders. A few more days, and this weight will crush me.  

My mom hasn’t been herself lately. She’s been hustling around the house like a tornado, messing up everything, occasionally changing tracks randomly, and causing chaos. Her temper has been boiling ever since the fight, the anger lurking just below the surface. To me, everything has lost its color. The entire house is filled with the emptiness my dad left behind. The only thing I have left is a small candle of hope that dims with each passing day.

After a week of this torture, there’s a phone call. I walk over to the receiver and pick up the phone.                     

            “Hello?”

            “Lynn?”

            “Dad!” His voice fuels the hope in me, turning the meager candle into a hungry flame.      

            “Can I talk to Mom?”

 I race up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time, and practically throw the phone to my mom. When she hears my dad’s voice, a shadow crosses over her face, but it’s replaced by longing so quickly I think I must have imagined it.

            “James? … Yes, yes, I-I’m ok … Lynn’s fine too … No, it’s not your fault, we’re both to blame … I made some wrong choices too … I said some things I didn’t mean, and I’m so sorry … I love you too, honey.” My dad says something I can’t make out, but ecstasy lights up my moms face. She hands the phone to me.

            “Dad?”

            “I love you so much, sweetie, and I’m so sorry. I’ve put you and Mom through so much, but I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be home in half an hour.”

 All the hurt, sorrow, and longing I’ve felt in the past week disappears like snow meeting the rising sun. All I can do is clutch the phone, my vision suddenly blurred with tears of joy. “He’s coming back,” I choke past the lump in my throat. I swallow and repeat it, hardly believing it to be real.

            “He’s coming back!”