Stage I

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I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my parents fighting again.

I plug my ears with my fingers and squeeze my eyes shut, but it's no use. They're too loud. My mom is near hysterics. “When were you going to tell me,” she demands.

Dad sighs. “I don't know, Marilyn.”

“You don't know," she mocks. "And I don't know why you always insist on keeping things from me.”

“Don't start this again.”

“First the mutant thing—”

“I said stop.”

“—and now this.”

They hurl a few more insults at each other. Then the front door slams with a thunderous crack and the whole house shakes. I try to take comfort in the silence that follows, but all I can do is count the tiles in the ceiling.

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