The Day My Innocence Died

The mist collected on my eyelashes. My breath left my body’s warmth and evaporated into a deep fog around me. It was a dark, dark night. And yet, I never felt this much at peace.

On bright, sunny days, I feel guilty being sad or angry or even the slightest bit frustrated. I keep it in so as not to dampen the spirit around me. People laughing, beach balls bouncing, sandcastles built high. The beach never seems to fit my persona in the summer. It’s on days like this that I feel at home here. The blackness of the water, the light of the moon. Here, I can rage as much as I like. The thunder sings along with me. The waves crash against the rocks, personifying how I have felt for so long.

I wasn’t always like this. But, at some point, one’s naivete catches up with them. For every smile we give the world, it likes to steal one off of someone else. For every innocent laugh at a cute kitten, there is another person dying of starvation. But for me, it wasn’t any of that. My innocence died the day that I caught my dad cheating on my mom.

After that day, nothing seemed simple anymore.

It was a day like many others. Mom was on a business trip, and dad was making waffles in the kitchen. He asked where my sister was just as I heard her little ballerina footsteps glide down the stairs. We joined him at the breakfast table. I jabbered on and on about soccer tryouts and junior year. My sister, Annie, delicately sprinkled powdered sugar on her waffles. Dad made some joke that we chose to ignore. All was well.

I knew I shouldn't interrupt a family meal, but I heard my phone buzz. Knowing it was Mom, I made some excuse to get up from the table and snuck off into the garage. My phone calls with Mom were special. I knew she and Dad were in some weird argument, but I was always on Mom’s side. I just didn’t need Dad to know that.

“How’s everything at home?” she asked. Her voice sounded a million miles away, though she was only in the next state.

“He made waffles,” I replied. I didn’t want her to hear the sadness in my voice at her absence so I quickly followed up with a question about her trip.

As she spoke, I was absentmindedly organizing our shoe rack, a habit of mine. And I couldn’t help but notice them.

“Hey mom, when did you get these red heels?”

I didn’t think she heard me and was about to repeat myself, when she hesitantly asked me which red heels I was talking about. It didn’t register until later that night.

Annie was watching TV and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I thought, maybe, just maybe I imagined it. But there they remained, a pair of shiny red pumps with four-inch heels. Annie and I never wear heels. I couldn't stomach the possibility that these belonged to another woman so I determinedly went upstairs to ask dad if a guest forgot them here. I didn’t think, not for the slightest second, that the owner could still be in our house.

And that’s when I heard it; the giggling. The sighing. I dashed to the bathroom and everything inside of me exploded into that toilet bowl. How could he do this? To mom?

Mom was gone for another month and Annie still didn't know. My life became a mixture of avoiding and sleeping. My appetite never returned. I was constantly shaking. Eventually, Dad noticed that I was unable to look him in the eye.

I couldn’t help replaying as many parts of their marriage as I could remember. Every fight I witnessed or heard through walls. The way Mom would try to hide her tears when she heard me coming down the stairs and into the kitchen. The way Dad stopped taking me places. He used to take Annie and I to the park, to the movies, to practices and rehearsals.

I realized how long it’s been since he’s really looked me in the eye, long before I found out about his little secret.

Mom stayed away for another month. But her calls were more frequent than ever. I told her Annie and I are perfectly okay, to which Annie eyed me confusingly. Why are you acting like we don’t need her? She’s been away for long enough. If Annie were a few years older, I could have explained it to her. But eleven is too young. I wouldn't even know how to tell her what was going on.

So I spent a couple of weeks trying to notice any other differences in Dad, and there were plenty. He smoked more. He laughed less. His jokes felt more forced than ever. He let me drive Annie and I wherever we wanted, completely letting go of his past protectiveness. As much as I used to hate his constant need to check up on me, I missed it so much at that moment.

I caught him crying once. He thought no one else was home and was sitting in front of his laptop. Coke can still covered in condensation and dinner uneaten, he sat there and sobbed like a baby. And that was the first time I tried to think about it from his perspective. I thought back to several months ago.

“Do you really have to go on a business trip every other month? We barely spend time as a family anymore,” Dad said before my mom’s ninth work trip for her company.

“I’m tired of having to fight for this, Mark,” Mom said.

“Did you forget what we promised each other when we got married?” My ears were plastered on the wall so hard that I felt I’d never be able to remove them. “Did you forget when we said that family would always come first? That we’d never let our businesses get in the way of that? I mean come on, Maggie, you know I want you to be happy but we miss you. I miss you. I don’t know how much longer I can live like this.”

Mom was coming home in a few days, and in every moment of every day, until she did, I couldn’t help but think about the fact that our lives were going to change drastically in the next week. I didn’t exactly know what would happen or how, but I knew something would happen.

I tried to distract myself and Annie as much as possible, but even she felt dad was different. One day, we were painting and all of a sudden she asked if dad was hiding something from us.

“What makes you ask that?” I inquired. Maybe eleven wasn’t so young.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s just been acting a little different, that’s all. And he–”

I followed her gaze to see that dad walked in. He had heard, and the look in his eyes told me that he knew that I knew.

“Annie, honey, can I talk to your sister alone for a sec,” he said. I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want to talk to him, not at all. But I simply watched Annie get up and leave the room. We both knew she’d be trying to listen.

“Belle, you know about those red shoes.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded.

“When did you find out?” I don’t know why, but I couldn’t respond. I have given him one word mumbled answers for weeks now and I simply didn’t know how to have a regular conversation with the man anymore. He felt like a stranger to me.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry that you found out,” he said with a strain to his voice that I never heard before. “There is no way to tell your child that you’ve done something like this, and I’m sorry you found out that way.”

“Why?” I couldn’t stop myself.

“Belle, there’s a lot that goes into this. First, I need you to know how much I love you and your sister. This has nothing to do with either of you, do you understand?”

How could he possibly think that would make me feel better? How could it not have anything to do with Annie and I? When we are the literal products of his love for the woman he was cheating on, how could it have nothing to do with us?

Why couldn’t I say any of that to him?

“You’re almost seventeen,” he continued. “You’ll learn soon about how people can grow apart over time. What people want in life can change. What people value in life can change.”

“Are you saying Mom doesn’t want you anymore?” Damn it. Why couldn’t I seem to control what words came out of my mouth? Dad flinched for a split second and quickly regained his composure.

“I don’t think it’s that simple, honey. You can fall out of love with someone, but still love them.”

“But Mom wasn’t the one to cheat,” I uttered. I knew somewhere, wherever she was, Annie heard that. It was time she knew anyway.

Dad just looked at me. A sad expression on his face. It wasn’t a look of guilt. He looked…sad for me. It took me a minute.

And, like a light bulb shattered in my skull, I was hit with the most painful realization of my life. I heard what he was trying to tell me.

“Mom’s trips never last this long,” I whispered. He made a slow nod, keeping his eyes on me. He was treading carefully and now I understood why.

Suddenly I was overcome. It was no longer as easy as picking one side. It wasn’t mom vs. dad. It wasn’t me vs. dad. My eyes filled with tears until I couldn’t see what was in front of me. Nothing was simple anymore. Nothing made sense. With this sudden truth, I had never felt more in the dark.

I ran down the hall, past my eavesdropping and shell-shocked sister, up to my room and slammed my door shut. I hid in the safety of my closet, piling as many blankets, shirts, and pants as I could against the door. I sat and wept and wept in the pitch black.

Now, several years later, I could sit here and tell you that everyone is happier. I could tell you that the divorce made my mom much more content. That my dad found peace with his new wife and child on the way. I could tell you that the rocky times came to an end and now Annie and I got to celebrate the holidays twice, instead of once. Twice the birthday parties, twice the presents.

I could tell you that Mom was much happier not constantly having to choose between her husband and her career. That Annie and I had gotten much closer through experiencing our parents' divorce. That the whole situation just made us stronger as people.

I could tell you all of that.

But nothing is that simple.