Looking our the car window and watching the bare trees as we passed by, my mother, sister, and I arrived to the old brick courthouse, which reminded me of a haunted house. The brisk, cold air hit me like a breeze of winter as I opened the car door. Walking in ur smelled of dust and pine. I already knew why we were there because my Mom had talked to us about it, but I didn’t really understand why we were there. I was only eight years old , after all. My sister, Mikayla, who was seven, didn’t quite understand either. Climbing up the chestnut staircase, we held hands with our mother. We sat the colored table and a cup of waxy crayons was among coloring books. My mother sat close by in a chair and watched us. “Mommy what’s wrong?” my sister inquired as she crawled on her lap.
“Nothing,” she replied, “I just want what’s best for you two.”

As she silently started to sob my sister and I sat next  to our mother and waited for our father to arrive. We heard heavy footsteps arching up the stairs, and I soon saw my father turn the corner. Running faster than the speed of light, Mikayla, and I darted into the snug arms of our father. He smelled like home, fresh and familiar. I giggled,

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hello,” he uttered,  “how are my girls?”
“Good,” we hollered, “we missed you.”
He greeted my mother as she did him. We all sat together on the olive green chairs. That’s when the two auburn doors opened wide to reveal a man in an ash suit black as night. He called my mother’s and father’s names; however, we continued to sit still.

I wandered to the frosty window peering out to the street below to watch the cars pass by. I didn’t understand what happened past those doors; I just kept staring out the window, watching the wet snow fall.

When I heard the creaking of the door, I knew it was my turn to go inside next. Mikayla and I lingered into the open room. It smelled of dusty desks and stale paperwork. “Hello, girls,” a raspy voice called. “My name is Henry, and I would like to talk to each of you.”

“Okay,” we mumbled.
He questioned us about how we felt about the situation involving our parents. My sister didn’t comprehend some of the questions, so she started bragging about her barbie dream house instead. The he asked us one final question, “Who do you want to live with, your mom or your dad?”

Of course I replied, “Both of them, both of them together.”

My sister told him she wanted the same. I knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. He then stood from his deep dark desk and told us we were done and opened the doors. As he opened the door, Mikayla and I couldn’t wait and ran to our loving parents. The judge told our parents that he needed to discuss with them one last time, and we had to wait.

As they left, my sister and I sat in loud silence. Sitting in the cushiony chair with my feet dangling, I worried about what was going to happening behind those doors. I looked up and noticed eyes on us. The older secretary peered at us over glasses, which hung on the tip of her nose. When the doors squeaked open once more, my mother and father were both in tears. I didn’t know why until my mother calmly explained to me I was no longer going to live in our little white house.

“Girls,” she muttered, “we are moving away and won’t be living here with your father.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore I began to let the warm tears fall down my small face.

For the rest of my life I would remember those words.

We pleaded and begged our mother not to make us leave our home, our town, our family. All we wanted-I wanted-was to stay together as a family.

My life, my family, was ripped apart into two forever. At the time, I didn’t interpret the word divorce it was all knew to me, and I didn’t like it. I despised being away from my father and then being away from my mother, going back and forth, house, to house, mom to dad. We would never be one family; we would forever be two.
I thought to myself, Why does it have to be like this? I wanted a second to go back that day and make a different choice. But it wasn’t my choice.