“Divorce, huh?” I whimpered. In a moment, the carefully constructed lines on my mom’s face that arduously painted her contained sorrow, melted into tears, while my dad’s despondent eyes watered into an ocean that his boat could never wade through. In I walked into the room of a finished marriage. White, somber, official papers brimmed with adultery and years of regrets---scattered across my parent’s bed and bedroom floor. While my parents rehearsed in their minds the contrived lies they were going to tell me, the fluorescent lights from the fan above the bed they sat in, illuminated their room, and ventured to expose their deceptions. I studied every drop of perspiration on their faces, and wrinkles that danced amongst their troubled eyes, while they struggled for the appropriate words pointed towards the conclusion of our once “happy” family. “Ye---how’d—you---know---uh---that?” my mom said, forcing the words to come out, in an attempt to compose herself. “It’s obvious,” I said. “Dad never cries” my dad, now looked at me in the eyes wishing he was anywhere but there---presumably with his mistress. Yet these tears he cried were in vain. He cried because he knew he wouldn’t see my brother and I everyday anymore and that 16-17 years of marriage were ending. But, if he truly stayed “just for the kids” then why did he have me holding in tears as I looked for him in the stands of my high school graduation? Even girlfriends and homewreckers understand the importance of life
