In America, the notion of divorce becomes more and more common. Many adults file for divorce, and when they do, they drag their children into the whole drama. When parents divorce, the children face much psychological turmoil. The saddest day of my life was when my parents got divorced. I always thought that my parents would be together. It was all the more sad because my dad did some things that provoked the ending of our happy family; he was having an affair. Although my mother, brothers, and I had no choice but to say good-bye to our happy family, I learned that life will throw many uncontrollable situations at me, but I do have the power to control how I react when I face those situations. From this whole experience, I have learned to let go of self- blame and to take responsibility for my own actions. I was twelve years old when my parents divorced. I will never forget the day we discovered that my father was having an affair. My mom and I were out shopping, while my dad and youngest brother were home. When he was on the phone, my brother overheard my father’s conversation with his mistress. When my brother told my mom, we all confronted him. At first he denied it, but then he confessed. Before this day, we were happy; my parents were married for 20 years, so when the word “divorce” was mentioned, I knew life would change forever. My thoughts became pieces of shattered glass. I felt lost, scared, sad, confused; I felt worse than hearing the sounds of a thousand fingernails scraping against a black chalkboard. I felt these emotions because I knew my identity was not solid; it was easily shattered. My family was my identity; therefore, my father shattered that identity

After the fiasco of confronting my father, my parents discussed separating. My mother wanted my father to leave, but he would not. My father decided to let months pass in silence. He stayed in the house, we stayed in the house, and he continued his life. My mother, brothers, and I lived like zombies for months, never discussing the affair. My dad would go to work and come home as if nothing happened. A change occurred, a dent, a scar. I remember thinking that I should have been a better daughter. Was it my fault? The shattered mirror image of myself poked away at my mind; I should have been a better daughter. My own mind became my own prison. I wanted to be free. I wanted to go back to the way things used to be. I wanted to tell myself it was not my fault, but I could not. My father took that chance from me, from us. My father was my best friend and the only one who I could be free with and be just me, and I was scared to lose him.

After months of silence, my father moved out, and my mother, brothers, and I stayed in the house. We stayed in the house temporally because my father stopped paying for everything, so we moved to an apartment, while my father bought another home with his new girlfriend. My father did not want us in his