I'm calling him Harrison now. Not Dad. Harrison. Because I hate him. I hate what he did to my mom. To you. I hate that he could just pack a suitcase and leave like it was nothing, like his family was nothing.
The house smells like him. His stupid aftershave. Everywhere. On the stairs, in the hallway. How is that possible? He took his clothes, the good coffee machine, a piece of my moms heart and still.. the smell lingers, like it's taunting me.
My Mom.. she moves around like someone's drained all the life out of her. She used to be loud, shouting, complaining.. now she just sits. Stares at the wall or quietly cries in the kitchen. I hear it but I don't go down. What could I even say?
"Sorry your husband is a cheat"
"Sorry my father is a coward?"
No. I'm not even sure she knows I know the truth. I wasn't supposed to, I overheard you telling her that day.. why did you never tell me?
The house is quieter now, no slamming doors. No shouting. Peaceful but fake.
I saw him by the front door this morning, Suitcase packed like he's going on vacation, not leaving his family. Not destroying us. Mom crying and me thinking.. this is it. This is the moment everything changes.
I didn't feel sad. I felt anger. I wanted to throw something, smash something. Make him feel even a small amount of the damage he's caused.
He looked at me like maybe he wanted to explain, apologise I didn't give him the chance to. I turned around and walked upstairs. That's it. That's the last time. No goodbye.
Funny how that seems to be a theme in my life lately.
Mom still wears her ring sometimes, as if forgetting it should be gone. The house feels bigger now.
I hate him.
I wonder if leaving is contagious. Maybe it is. You disappear, Harrison disappears.. maybe people just walk away when things get hard. Leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.
I hope I never become like that.
But right now everything is chaos, the smell, the silence.. and I'm starting to realise that when someone leaves they don't take the damage with them.
