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I didn’t want to be here, I decided.

I didn’t want to stay at my dads for summer.

I didn’t want to be around him when he hurt my mom.

I didn’t want to stay in this stupid fucking house where he tried to play like he didn’t just uproot his life, and marry someone else.

Someone who wasn’t my mom.

I didn’t want to pretend that my “step mom” was an alternative option for my sweet and caring mother that had to spend the whole summer without her kids.

I didn’t want to play pretend with this family, while I know my mom missed us.

My brother and my brother were forced to stay here, and I think being seventeen, I should be able to decide where and who I stayed with.

Do I sound bratty? Yes.

Do I care? No.

Have I always been like this? No.

Before the incident last year, I was a happy go lucky tween that thought my family was happy and that between the four walls, we were complete.

But, boy was I wrong.

So wrong.

I was sitting on the swing outside, letting the wind flow through my long hair as I counted the stars in the sky.

I was just angry at the world, and the only way I could deal with it was keeping my distance.

Marie Silverton was the woman cos-playing as my mom inside the kitchen. Those two names shouldn’t even be together.

Now you may be thinking, Raven.

What could cause this much anger in a seventeen year old? What is the problem with your dad marrying another woman?

Well, for starters.

He was still married to my mom when he decided to let his eyes roam.

He was still married to my mom when he decided to start a whole other family. He was still married to my mom when he decided to spring the divorce on my mom like a hot potato.

He was still married to my mom when he left the state, and left behind all the bills and the house shit.

He abandoned his family and went with his mistress, and now they were all cozied up in this big house, thinking he can rekindle with his son and daughter that he left a year ago.

So, yes, I’m pissed.

I’m angry for my my mom, and I’m angry for the shift in our lives after he decided we weren’t good enough for him.

My long, brown hair flows in the wind as a single tear slips down my face.

I’ve spent the last year thinking about why I wasn’t good enough for him to stay, or why my mom wasn’t.

Those feelings hit deep.