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November twelfth, 2015, the second-worst day of my life. The day my parents sat me and my brother down. “Who died this time?” I ask. They told us they wanted to tell us something, and they never do that. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing any of my grandparents.

“No one died this time, sweetie,” my mom said. “However, we wanted to tell you we are getting a divorce.”

I had never knew what that word meant, I had never heard it. And, after a year, if you told me to define it without having learned it november twelfth, I would have said it meant the world would crumble. And I never knew the world could crumble.

Just like that, I my life reached the top of the hill. Time could only go forward, so my life headed downhill. I wasn't a happy, carefree child. Quite soon enough, my mom got a job and moved miles away. I went every-other week with her. I had no friends to talk to about it, no friends at all. But it did get better. And, after a while, there were bumps in the road, and some went up.


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