This evening, while my parents argued, I listened to the children next door. They sounded young, intense.
“Happy Birthday to No-one,” laughed one of the the girls, and the others joined in. It drowned out my mother’s voice; “what do want that you haven’t already got?” She asked him.
There wasn’t a response, there never is. The words he’d said were still echoing, pounding back over their memories. “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work out.” Her question had begged the damning words, but he wasn’t going to repeat them again.
“Hip-hip-hooray,” screamed the kids, as I closed my eyes. “Hip-hip-hooray,” screamed the kids as she left the room.
By Danielle K. Day