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The Secret Tears of a Butterfly (Part 1)

The Secret Tears of a Butterfly (Part 1)

The Secret Tears of a Butterfly


As time went on the arguments and fights grew worse. Everyone was on a different page

at home, and I was losing my mind. With every argument I became more and more depressed. You couldn’t make me smile if my life depended on it. The only thing that would be able to make me smile was if somehow some way my parents would learn how to get along. At least show that they loved each other.  As I’m telling you this, I’m trying to remember at least one time I was grossed out by seeing my parents kiss; I can’t remember not once. But no matter what happened and no matter what was said, the only thing that began to matter was at the end of every day, we were still a family. Until one day I woke up and my whole world was crushed by the news of another woman. I thought “Another woman? Not my daddy.”

Everything in my life and what it was suppose to be took a major turn for the worst. He not only stepped out on my mother. My father stepped out on our family and every sense of it faded away fast as hell. It was at this point and age that I quickly came to realize that family meant nothing, and the hopes of keeping ours together grew slim. My family was fading away faster than time.

Every day after the news there was an argument, and not your average one. The police had been called a few times because the arguments between my parents had gotten physical. My mother would have a few bruises, and my father would come out looking like he had fought a wild alley bob cat from the projects. There was one fight in particular where my father looked like he had fought for his life. He had deep cuts and scratches with blood trickling down his forehead. It looked like my mother truly got the best of him. My father sat on the porch with blood trickling down his forehead as I just stood there looking at him. He looked liked he wanted to cry, but didn’t want me to see it. I wasn’t sure if his sadness was because my mother whooped his ass, he was regretting what he had done, or he was just as tired as I was or maybe more. As I stood there my father looked up at me and said, “I’m sorry ya’ll had to see that.” Even though he probably deserved it this was still my father, and If you know anything about being a “Daddy’s Girl” it doesn’t matter what he did you better not mess with him. I was beyond angry. There were days I absolutely hated my mother and felt bad for my father. Then there were days I hated my father because of what he had done and felt bad for my mother. On this day, I was ready to get down and fight my mother. That thought lasted about 60 seconds, after I took another look at my father and saw what she had done to him.

At age 14 my parents were divorced. I was confused about what would happen with my sister and I, and happy because I thought the arguments would cease and there would be peace. There were a lot of mixed emotions, but for the most part I was sad and depressed not wanting my father to leave.  The day he left he took half of me with him. It was a sad day on Coral Tree Lane. Surprisingly it was quiet. I could hear my father beg my mother for them to work things out.  It was then I knew he regretted what he had done. My mother declined, and it was too late. My father had cheated.


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