The choice was minewhich parent would I live with? Two years later, I regretted my decision.
Id always believed my father loved me more than my mother. He spoiled me; she scolded. He made peace; she started arguments. So when I learned of their divorce, part of me was relieved. At thirteen, I couldnt bear the thought of staying with Mum, and besides, Dadthe breadwinnerwould surely provide better. They asked my opinion. Mum hoped Id choose her, though she wasnt surprised when I picked Dad.
A year after we moved, Dad found a new girlfriend. She was around Mums age, and he adored her. She treated me well enough, but without Mums warmth. When she and Dad had a daughter together, it was as if Id faded from their minds. Sometimes theyd go away, just the three of them, forgetting to invite me. Other times, theyd host elaborate dinners when I wasnt there. My room now held a crib, and since the baby came, sleep was impossiblemidnight wails, the stepmother shuffling in with the light on.
Dad never asked how it affected my mood or grades. He didnt care when I stayed out late with friends. Eventually, I realised it couldnt go on. I had university plans, but without proper rest, Id never manage. Swallowing my pride, I called Mum.
«Can I come stay with you?» I asked, expecting little. I rarely visited, even more rarely phoned.
«Of course, love. Stay as long as you like. The sisters wearing you down, isnt she?»
I pitied her. Dad had a new family, new worriesMum was still alone.
I asked Dad if I could move in with her temporarily. He agreed at once, promised to send money, and never called. For all of us, it was simpler this way. Maybe because Im older now, but Mum and I get on like friends. She looks after me, supports me, while Dad and I only speak sometimes. He thinks Im grown; Mum still fusses, making dinner when I return from work.
If I could go back, Id choose her. But then again, I mightve regretted that just as much, always wondering if the grass was greener.
