Tell Me a Story | ✓

Already Gone

I was young; only nine years old. Lying in my bed, daydreaming behind my closed eyelids, I heard my father muttering to my mother about things I was too foolish to understand. But his words were harsh - that I could understand just fine.

There were tears. I didn't have to see them to be able to know - I could hear them in my mother's choked-up throat when she spoke back to him.

Their conversation was long. I could hear Mom digging in her wardrobe. For what, I'm not sure. She just kept muttering two words. "I'm leaving."

Crawling out of my bed, I ran to their room, my socked feet pattering on the wooden floors. But their door was locked.

Banging on the door with tight fists, Dad instantly opened the door and yelled for me to go back to bed.

I never got to see my mom after that night.

She was already gone.