It was the day we were supposedly packing from the house and city where I had spent sixteen years of my life. My mom, Ella, handed me a cup of dark, strong coffee, just how I liked it.

"Get ready; the movers are on their way," she said, her voice betraying no emotion.

"I am. My stuff is packed already, I'm ready," I replied, taking a big gulp. I dropped the empty cup on the kitchen counter, sighing.

"You just don't get it, do you?" I blurted out, the frustration boiling over. It was all happening too fast. My parents separated a month ago, and now, weeks later, we were packing for a new town. I didn't understand why we were leaving; this city was my whole life.

"We've been over this already, Debby," she said, acting uninterested, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond me.

"I get that you don't have anything left here, but what about me? What about my friends? What about Dad? Just because you let him off doesn't mean I have to, and you can't decide that for me! You're just pissed Dad moved on before you!" I spat, the words burning with raw anger.