HANNAH

Walking back into this house feels strange. Many memories—especially the last one of my mom and dad having sex—are contained within these walls and make me feel... weird.

Seeing this living room, this kitchen again feels... distant. I feel like I've been away from this house for more than just two weeks. Everything seems foreign and unfamiliar.

My mom sits at the end of the kitchen table—her usual spot—and I sit on the chair to her right. I leave my backpack on the backrest and get ready to listen to her.

"I'm listening," I say, giving her the cue to start the conversation.

She nods, clears her throat and begins:

"I don't know where to start, honestly. It's all so... complicated that I... I don't quite know what to..." my mom says, trying to sort out her thoughts. Her voice seems to be on the verge of cracking and I notice her eyes fill with sudden tears, something that surprises me, since my mom never cries.

"Start from the beginning. Start by telling me why dad didn't come to live with us here," I say, pushing her even harder. Until I have the whole story and the absolute truth, I'm not going to stop.

She sighs and scowls. I know she must hate being in this situation and she must hate me even more for bringing out all the secrets she pretended to keep from me, but not anymore—the lies are over.

"Okay," she huffs. "Your dad left because he decided to pursue his dreams and go work in Boston as an entrepreneur. You know his profession was always like a second child to him—he couldn't say no to that offer. So, since he knew you didn't want to move to the United States, he decided to go alone and leave you here with me. What we did then was to sell the apartment in Rosario so he would have money to take to the States and I would have money to buy something in San Pedro so we could both start from scratch, alone," she tells me, forcing a smile as she caresses my hand.

I pull my hand away as I hear the stupid thing the woman in front of my eyes just said.

What the fuck? Did she just say that I didn't want to go live in the U.S.? Me? Don't my parents know me at all? It seems like I've been living with two fucking strangers all these years.

I can't even remember how many fucking times I mentioned the idea of moving to the United States. They even know that my dream since I was six years old is to live in New York! Since I was little all I have done is listen to American music, watch American movies and series, celebrate American holidays... all because I love the U.S. And my mom has just told me that my dad didn't even offer me to go to the U.S. with him because he knew I didn't want to go? I'm not buying that.

Although, I must admit that I was surprised when I found out that he had decided to go to the United States without me and my mom. Especially without me. I knew my mom and dad weren't doing so well lately, but he could have at least asked me if I wanted to go with him... and I would have gladly accepted. That was just the change I needed to start from scratch. Anyway, there's no turning back now, I guess, and now I don't even talk to my dad.

"Aha," is the only thing I answer.

My mom looks at me, confused by my reaction.

"That's all you're going to say? I just answered your question," my mom says, a little upset.

"No, you just made up an answer, I mean, you lied. Dad knew and knows I love America, he would never have decided not to take me with him because he "knew I didn't want to go"— it's impossible. There must be some other reason and if you don't want to tell me, don't worry, I will find some way to discover the truth," I say with a defiant tone, without fear. Just my curiosity, my anger and my resentment towards this woman speaking for me.

My mom opens her mouth slightly and frowns, surprised by my reaction. Honestly, I'm also surprised by the bravery I showed today. It's unusual for me to be like this, especially when it comes to my mom, but it was definitely a big step.

She opens her mouth to answer me, but before she can say anything, I grab my backpack, sling it over my shoulder and leave the house, slamming the door as hard as I can. I'm not going back to this damn place ever again.