Sarah is thrown back into an ugly past when her old best-friend-turned-enemy kills herself. With the help of new smiles and old glares, she learns that some things just won't stay dead until you make peace with them.
I came home that day and headed straight up the stairs as always. A strange voice came from down the hall, from the kitchen, and I paused on the stairs, one hand on the railing and another on my satchel strap. I even held my breath as I strained to hear the conversation.
"...It's not too late, though if you were a few years younger it would definitely be easier to get a divorce..." came the strange voice. It was a young man, I could tell that.
I brought a hand to my mouth and sat slowly on the stairs, leaning against the bannister.
"...In terms of the house, it's in really good condition... 3 or 4 years could be..."
I sprung to my feet and ran up the stairs, hoping that the noise would reach them and send the exact message I wanted it to send. I heard you.
I slammed my bedroom door and climbed onto the short windowsill, shoving the window open to let in the distant sounds of London traffic as tears began to run down my cheeks and collect at my chin. I wiped them on the back of my hand. I heard the sound of the man leaving, saying goodbye and exchanging banter with my Dad, which only made me grit my teeth even more.
I heard footsteps climb the stairs, and come towards my room. The door opened, but I didn't turn around.
"Why'd you slam your door, Sarah?" said Mum reproachfully. I wiped at my face again and sniffed.
"Piss off."
"Don't talk to your mother like that, Sarah."
I didn't reply, and she walked in, and I felt the familiar irritable tension I always felt when she came into my room. She sat on my bed and sighed.
"Sarah, we are very tight on money at the moment," she said, and it sounded like she was crying, but I couldn't see if she was from out of the corner of my eye. Somehow her saying that, acknowledging it, made it all the more horrible, and me all the more angrier.
"I don't want to talk about it, Mum."
Mum sighed again, and stood, leaving me alone and closing the door firmly behind her. If she'd cried, I didn't care. I really didn't care.
I knew we lived in one of the nicest suburbs in London. I knew we were well-off, and everyone always reminded me of that. I myself had grown so close to that security, knowing there was something to fall back on, that this sudden discovery chilled every part of my body.
Of course there were people worse off than me, of course I knew that. I knew that, even if we had to sell the house, I would still be in that top one percent that had it better than everyone else.
But it still rattled me to the core to even think that this house - this family - was a facade.
And now my parents were splitting up too? Had I heard that right? Mum hadn't mentioned it when she came in. Was that still up in the air?
I thought of all the times Mum and Dad argued, but still called each other 'honey'. I remembered when Mum had said how horrible divorce was for children, and that they would never do it to us. But maybe things had changed.
It seemed that with every passing day, my life was fraying into threads.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
