When I was young, I lived in a big house, my best friends lived right next to me, all my favorite places were within walking distance, and I had the perfect family.

The hallways were long with colorful light from windows filling them, the rooms always filled with laughter and fighting and snoring, the living room had noise from the tv, and the kitchen had the sweet/salty smell of someone always cooking.

"Fabian, Sylvia, and Sebastian, come for dinner!" My mom would yell as the sun set, and the driveway lights turned on.

I remember the warm feeling of being surrounded by my favorite people at the dinner table as we waited for the food. There was such a robust pleasant smell that filled the dining room, and when my mom came out with all the food it put smiles on all of our faces.

"HURRY UP AND EAT FAST!!" my brother whisper yelled. 

"I am almost done,"  I told him.

"Stop talking and eat," my sister scolded us.

My siblings and I  rushed to eat so we could go back outside and play until it was too dark to see each other's faces.

My dad and mom would watch movies with us snuggled on the couch, they had had date nights, and my mom would make my dad coffee in the morning before work.

They would go on date nights to fancy restaurants and leave us with a babysitter.

LA FACNY

 Over the years, they slowly stopped watching movies, filling their free time with work, and the look that was once so loving now turned dull.

As more time passed, the movie nights stopped altogether, the silence turned to fight, and the dullness in their eyes turned into disgust. I started to feel trapped in the middle.

 I wondered why they fought so much and what they could argue about, but I didn't understand that, just like how my sister and I fought about things my parents did.

 I would ask my siblings how to make them stop fighting, but all they said was that they would divorce.

I tried to drown out the fighting and the comments of my siblings, but I knew what was coming next.

One day my parents sat my siblings and me down to talk.