When I was in high school, after my most rebellious teenage stage, I still constantly argued with my parents. During good weeks, they yelled at and lectured me at least once every two days. During bad weeks, we disagreed at least twice daily. Sometimes, it was over petty issues that we all got over after about an hour. At other times, the same argument would span over days or weeks, and – twice – over a span of two months. I had become irritable due to the stress over college prep exams and application process on top of a general heavier workload in my classes. As for my parents, they began having problems of their own, so they projected most of their frustrations towards each other onto me.

We had always been a happy family, one that my friends had always envied and cooed over. But time moves on and people change. So sometimes, families eventually fall apart. I had begun to envy Chanyeol’s family; they must have done something right if they raised a son with such a positive attitude and cheerful personality rather than a ed-up daughter like me.

Maybe we should have never moved to this town, because before this, our house was once filled with laughter and harmless conversation. But now, hostility outweighed love and arguments took the place of daily greetings.

Having recently been promoted to a higher managerial position in his company, my dad began coming back later and later every night. On some nights, after a meeting with prospective sponsors, he’d come home smelling of cigars and hard liquor. And so my mom would start arguing with him, accusing him for neglecting his family and committing shameful acts just to acquire sponsors for that “good-for-nothing piece-of- company.” And he’d argue that the good-for-nothing company was the exact piece of that fed our mouths and provided a roof over our heads.

Thus, not wanting Chanyeol or any of my neighbors overhearing the disputes and our family problems, I began keeping my room window shut. I closed my entire household off from the rest of the world in shame.

She’s shut up for a couple of minutes, until he left to shower and she’d smell the hostess’s cheap perfume on his clothes. There were times that she accused him of cheating on her and planning to abandon us. And there were times when she threatened to divorce. Every time they argued after midnight, I would always storm to the living room, where they were screaming their heads off at each other, and I’d join the bullfight.

The worst was when I told them that I’d be better off alone, or better, with other parents, so I would not have to deal with their bull.

“Can you guys just shut the up? I have school in four hours!”

They at parenting – horribly, but then again, I perhaps was not the daughter of the year either. I guessed I deserved every word they spat at me that night. My mom scoffed at me before stomping to stand directly in front of me. “Watch your language, young lady,” she threatened lowly. “And don’t you dare step into this.”

“What? Are you going to threaten to kick me out like last time?” I laughed incredulously and inched dangerously close to her. In that scene, we didn’t paint the picture of a family at all, let alone a picturesque one. “Or are you going to threaten to divorce dad again and send me to a foster home?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Sophia Han!” I saw the fury in her eyes, but that only fueled my amusement with the argument. From the corner of my eye, I saw my dad simply standing a few feet behind my mother, shaking his head disapprovingly at the unfolding scene. But he was no better, either. “I gave birth to you; you have no right to talk down on me like that.”

“Really? Well, I wish you never did. So I wouldn’t be stuck in a family like this–”

That’s when I felt a raw sting on my left cheek, the force from the impact snapping my head to the right. I returned my head to its original position only to find my father’s glower stinging my gut.

“We didn’t raise you to talk to us like that.”

It was the first time he’d ever laid his hands on me. Before, my mom would slap me when I overstepped my boundaries in arguments, but never had he ever done the same; he was always the “good guy,” the protective father figure, who acted like the mediator at most times. But this time, it was he who had caused me to stumble backwards, cowering in fear.

I no longer felt the sting or pulsing on my cheek when the sourness within my chest overpowered every other feeling and thought in my body. Even when he stared at my broken figure in concentration, there was no regret in his eyes, no thought of apologizing. After taking a deep breath, he continued to shatter my sanity, “You know what? Maybe if we didn’t have you, our lives would be much easier.”

I felt my eyelids beginning to quiver with the weight of moisture escaping them, as I glared at him with resentment and hurt burning my eyes. I dared to raise my head and meet his gaze, a smirk gracing my lips and a scoff escaping them.

“My thoughts exactly.”

When he saw my reaction, regret immediately flashed across his face, and he stumbled over his next words. He knew me to well. Every time I wore a façade in front of them, he’d see through my mask without fail. He didn’t hear the words I spewed or the dripping sarcasm in my expression but rather the undiscounted hurt and denial behind the tears that refused to fall. My mother’s one hand was on his forearm, silently reprimanding him for taking the argument a step too far, but it was too late. They both began to reach for me, but I only shifted further away from them, building up my fortress to protect myself against them again.

“Soph, I’m–”

“If only.”

When I returned to the safety of my room, the tears began their way down my furious cheeks, refusing to stop. My parents only continued to argue over my father’s “small mistake”, but really, what was even new and unexpected at this point? It wasn’t even a mistake. When people let their emotions overtake them and lose their filter, that’s when the truth and their honest thoughts become clearest. And I let out choked sobs occasionally as I slumped beside my bed, replaying the scene over time after time, adding to that sour taste in my chest.

I was used to getting into conflicts with them, so what was so hard about it this time? Perhaps it was having that small pinch of hope within me – that small bit of hope that maybe they cared just a tinge about me to consider my feelings – crushed and blown into the arms of the passing winter air. And maybe it was the sense of loneliness that came with their shunning – the darkness of having no shoulder to lean on, no hand to hold throughout it all. Or maybe I actually wished that we’d get past the hurdle and actually be a decent family again.

“Soph?” that soft voice, which was followed by a loud creak and a muffled curse, silenced my sobs momentarily. I turned my head to the direction of my window only to find the tall giant awkwardly bending his body in the most uncomfortable positions to fit through my open window. It was the first time that I left the window open that month, because my family had stopped arguing for four days that week already. So I decided to leave