teenage sleuth

I walked up the stairs, my hands trembling with fear. I opened the creaky door to our apartment, shuddering at the large noise in the desolate hallway. It seemed as if the whole world was asleep. I crept into my apartment, feeling like a criminal in my own home. I guess I was.

my father didn’t accept me in his home. He hated me, despised my existence. I hated him back, but o never could really. Because it was never my fault that he was broken. The only person who could fix him was the one who broke him, the one who never would have even wanted to.

it all started that fateful day. My mother decided my father was not the guy for her, and left us. She never gazed back in the rear view mirror. it was as if she never existed. My father took a turn for the worse. My usual lovable but strict father became a drunk idiot.

home was the worst. I was in charge of us. He always sat on the couch, gazing ahead at no certain point, draining his bourbon. Sometimes as I pushed open the door as I came home from work to support us, he would grab me and throw me to the ground. He would hit me until he fell over from exhaustion and leave me trembling on the floor. I would look into his deep brown eyes and ask myself where did my father go? Would he ever come back? Would my mother?

I asked myself these questions ever since I was 15 and mother left. Sometimes I saw her, and I wondered why she left us. I always wished I could strangle her, for making my father a total idiot, and making out with random boys. sometimes she saw me, and ran the other way. But I saw a strange sight every time I met her. Never once did she take off my fathers wedding ring.

i was puzzled, but my mother was a mystery to me. The woman who I thought I loved never cared for me. She barely knew me anymore.

I went on with my life though. I knew that she was permanenrly gone, and never coming back. The woman who was my mother was now a nobody. I pushed her to the back of my mind, and brought back my studying. I studied hard, and forgot about my mother. She was just a distraction to me now. But then one day I found a picture in my dresser.

it was my mother with a younger man and two girls. So I was her second family. Where were these daughters? I took the picture out of the frame and looked on the back. It said Ray, Grace, and my loving husband. I gagged at the description, but then I saw an address. Weird. it was mine. Hey, Ray was my nickname mother called me! That man looked just like father! I realized it the second I saw. i have a sister.