I knew something was wrong when my mom got a call right before midnight, and while still on the phone, started to sob uncontrollably. I was sure something changed for the worst when she shoved me into the car at 12am to go to my grandparents’ house, pulling over every few minutes so as to not get into a crash because of her state of hysteria. I knew that whatever was going to happen next wasn’t going to be good when she didn’t even notice that she hadn’t buckled me at all during the drive. And now, sitting outside the closed study doors, I knew that things would never be the same again.

I felt numb. I couldn’t see what was in front of me, and I couldn’t feel anything except for the cold wall on my back. I could hear the hushed whispers of the grown-ups leak out from the space underneath the giant wooden doors. They seemed to spill out gently at first, but soon became harsher, harder. Their strong grip threatened to swallow me whole. Somebody picked me up, and held me tightly. They told me everything was going to be okay.

I didn’t believe that, and I knew they didn’t either.

“We know she didn’t want to do this. She just… did.” One voice said, soft, desperate. Hopeful.

“Well how do you know? She was always a bit weird to me. A little dysfunctional.” Another voice countered, and you could hear the sneer. You could hear the disappointment.

There were murmurs of agreement.

I wanted to storm in. I wanted to change their minds. She wasn’t weird. She wasn’t dysfunctional. She was good. She was different.

She was mine.

But what did I know? I was only 7, and I couldn’t even open those heavy study doors to get in there by myself. I was only 7, and my tiny voice would barely be heard if they weren’t listening for it. I was only 7, and I didn’t know how to yell without crying. I was only 7, and I had trouble remembering what nine times three was. I was only 7, and I couldn’t open a bag of chips on my own. I couldn’t reach the top shelf. I couldn’t do my own hair. I couldn’t write in cursive. I couldn’t read chapter books. I couldn’t do the monkey bars all the way across. I couldn’t even tie my own shoes.

And I couldn’t understand. It didn’t make sense, why she left. I wanted to get why she chose this, but no reason seemed good enough. She left us. She left me.

“Sometimes, Anna, you just have to be free. Sometimes you just have to scream. Sometimes you just have to dance. And sometimes, there’s no way to let that freedom out. It stays, trapped, inside you for days, weeks, years, just waiting to be let out.”

I still remember those words, and the day she said them to me. We were alone in the park, sitting on the swings. I didn’t pay attention to what those words meant then. But I will now.

And now I think I understand. I think I get it.

She had to be free.

I walked upstairs, up to her room, and I laid down, underneath her warm, soft covers. But even with my eyes closed, I could still see those awful doors. Even when my hands were held over my ears, I could still hear those terrible words. As I laid there, trying to forget, even for a little bit, I suddenly felt her all around me. All of a sudden, I felt safe. For the first time that night, I felt okay.

“I love you,” I told her. “Be good. And be free.”

I lay there for a while, the calmest I had been in what felt like days. Just being in her bed, I truly felt that although things wouldn’t be the same, they would eventually be okay again.

Right before I drifted off, I thought I heard a voice. Her voice. Saying something back to me.

But it could’ve just been my own imagination.