Chapter 2: Everything Falls Apart

On the way home, I kept turning over how I was going to break the news of my expulsion to my family.

The streets seemed emptier than ever, my backpack getting heavier with every step. Kids zipped past on their bikes, laughing, totally unaware. I dragged myself past faded yard signs, every porch light flickering on as dusk crept in.

My dad had gotten sick years ago and lost both legs at the waist. My mom was mute; when I was three, she swallowed rat poison by accident, which ruined her mind, leaving her stuck at the level of an eight-year-old. The three of us survived entirely on food stamps and disability checks. After school, I worked part-time jobs just to help keep us afloat. Our fridge was mostly empty, except for a half-used bottle of ketchup and a box of baking soda.

Sometimes I’d see other kids’ moms waiting at the bus stop, waving them over, and for a second I’d forget everything about my own family. Then I’d remember the feel of my dad’s calloused hand squeezing mine, the sound of my mom humming cartoon jingles, and the way our kitchen always smelled faintly of instant coffee and Lysol.

Whenever things got tough, my dad would hold my hand and say, “Son, you have to get into college, find a good office job, so you won’t have to suffer in the future.”

He’d say it every night, even when the power got cut or dinner was just ramen again. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at old magazines full of office buildings, picturing me in a suit, far away from all this mess.

I hesitated at the door for a long time, too scared to go inside.

I stared at the porch light flickering above the chipped paint on the front door. My hand hovered over the knob, "I’m sorry" lodged in my throat.

Finally, my dad called out, “Is that you, Derek?”

His voice carried through the thin walls, raspy but familiar—home and heartbreak all at once.

“Yeah, it’s me, I’m back.”

I stepped over the threshold and into the house. My dad was propped up on the bed, hunched over, struggling to pull the blanket over his legs. I rushed over and tucked it in for him.

He gave me a weak smile, the kind that tries to make everything easier. The TV played some old sitcom to an empty living room.

“Why are you back so early today?”

I hadn’t told my parents about the fight. Even with my arm in a sling, I lied and said I’d fallen off my bike on the way home.

I figured if I could just hold things together a little longer, maybe I’d find a way out—a miracle, a new start. But my heart pounded with the secret I was carrying.

“Where’s Mom?” I dodged his question.

“Your mom wanted some rock candy, so I gave her a little money to get it at the corner store.”

He tried to sound casual, but his eyes flicked to the clock. He always worried when she went out alone.

“Oh.” I nodded. “You rest. I’ll go make some oatmeal.”

I lingered in the kitchen, pouring oats into a battered saucepan, glancing at the front window every few seconds for a sign of her. The sky outside faded from blue to gray, the hum of traffic growing distant.

It was almost dark, but my mom still wasn’t back. My dad got anxious and told me to go look for her. I agreed and went out, never guessing this would become the biggest regret of my life.

I threw on my jacket and hurried out, heart pounding, running through worst-case scenarios in my mind. The evening air felt colder than usual, prickling my skin with dread.

I went to the store to look for my mom, but she was gone. The cashier said she’d already bought the candy and left for home. A cold wave of unease crept over me.

I checked every corner, even behind the old vending machine where she sometimes liked to sit. My hands started sweating. The worry twisted into panic, coiling tight in my gut.

Just as I was rushing home, Mrs. Jenkins from next door came running over, panting, to tell me my mom was dead. She’d fallen into the creek and drowned.

She grabbed my sleeve, eyes wide, breath fogging in the cold. The words barely made sense at first, the world tilting under my feet. It felt like time just stopped on our quiet block. Somewhere, a neighbor’s radio played a Christmas carol. I wanted to smash it. Nothing would ever be bright again.