My mother is so damn scary. She's literally glaring at me and calling it her regular face. She's been plagued with a horrible case of resting bitch face. I wonder how she met dad, how she met anyone, to be honest.

I'm sitting here with sweaty hands, wishing I could go back, but I'm here now, so I might as well.

"So, as you know, Derek and I have been married for three years."

My dad listened attentively as my mom furrowed her brows. "Yes and?"

I took a deep breath. "I can't do it anymore, and it's not about commitment on my part. It's how he treats me."

"I'm sure it can be solved." Is all she said. Even my dad gave her a look.

"Mom, he beats me, insults me, forces me to do things I don't want to do. I'm going to divorce him."

Mom's fist hit the counter. "Unacceptable!" She commanded.

"Vanessa, how could you say that! He abuses our daughter, and it's unacceptable for her to leave?!" Dad raises his voice.

Mom gave him a good smack on the face, eliciting a gasp from me. "Watch who you're talking to, Jackson. You know what I can do."

What can mom do to dad? He's a very fit and tall man compared to mom's petit form. If anything, he lets her hit him.

"And you," she points to me. "Be a better wife, and maybe your husband won't be itching to hit you." She looked at me with disgust, as if me coming to her to tell her I wanted a divorce was a crime. She walked away, ignoring the glare my dad gave her.

I don't even cry; I know mom doesn't love any one of us. I learned that a long time ago.

My dad looked at me with shame. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He hugged me, and I hugged him back. I missed him so much. He has such a terrible wife.

"What does she have on you, dad? Why can't you just leave?"

Dad sighed, shaking his head. "I'm an immigrant. I don't have a green card, no citizenship. She can deport me back to Sudan."

I pulled away from him. "Your name is Jackson Belford. You were born in New Orleans!"

He shook his head again. "It's all a lie," he whispered. "My name is Bol Deng. I was born in Khartoum, Sudan."

I furrowed my brows. "How did you and mom meet then?"

"Your mother was a missionary, and she met me there. I was living on whatever I could steal, and your mother helped me, changed my name, taught me English, got me an education, and then she fell pregnant. I made it my duty to care for her; after all, she was only eighteen at the time, so I married her.....she started using deportation to keep me around. If I get deported, I can't come back; I can't see any of you. I'll go back to living dirt poor, with no way of communicating. I wouldn't be able to afford a phone."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Oh, dad, I'm–I'm so sorry."

He hugged me again. "Oh, ابنتي الجميلة, I love you and your siblings so much it doesn't matter. Divorce your husband, be happy, but don't forget me."

I shook my head. "I won't; I promise, dad."

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

"I always knew that mom had brainwashed dad or something but this?!" My sister, A'raya, exclaims.

"Quiet down, girl. You weren't supposed to hear this anyway."

"I hear mom and dad argue all the time, all of us see when mom slaps him. I even have an eighteen-year-old husband I'm arranged to marry in three years."

I gasped. "What?"

A'raya waves me off. "Don't worry, he's so fine, and if he does a Derek, I have Jericho, you, and dad."

I smiled, hugging her. "If you want this, then ok."

She shakes her head. "He's so fine," she squealed.

"He's a grown man!"

"Only three years older!" She argued.

I shook my head. "Fifteen-year-olds."

A'raya scoffed dramatically. "Adults."

King and Lucky went to soccer practice when they heard mom yelling; apparently, every time she yells or argues with dad, they just go to a random soccer practice if they don't have practice at their school.

White told me they didn't believe I was actually here, and A'raya was too busy eavesdropping to drop in the conversation.

I did have fun, though. I went to visit King and Lucky at their soccer practice. They went from lazy asses to competitive sports players. I'm proud of all of them. A'raya is a math genius, a little boy–men crazy, but yea, White played the piano for me. She's impressive for a ten-year-old. They all have things going on for them, so I hope they'd have a better start in life than Jericho and I did.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

I arrived one hour early from my set curfew at around seven pm. I felt pretty confident about being beaten up today until I saw Derek glaring at me from the living room couch with a belt in hand.

"Derek?" I cautiously whispered. "Derek, what–"

"You know, I was wondering why my wife is acting so good. I was so happy too. I thought maybe we're going to be a great married couple," Derek huffed. "Then I get a call from her mother, talking about how she wants to divorce me, not only that, my boss seems very fond of you, he lost his phone, and you know, me being the suck up, I found it for him, only to turn it on and see my wife on his wallpaper."

"Huh? Mr. Trancy has a picture of me?"

I'm going to kill him. He probably took an ugly picture of me sleeping. It has happened before, don't ask.

"Don't act stupid, A'roya. It's only going to make this worse for you."

I sighed. "Derek, I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore," I said truthfully.

He got up and threw the coffee table to the side in anger as I fell back, startled. "A'roya, you're not going anywhere, dumb bitch."