Grandma didn't understand legal procedures. What she did understand was that her granddaughter was hers to protect.
Without hesitation, she took my hand and led me away, ignoring the disapproving looks behind her. What happened after that, I never found out.
When I was little, Grandma raised me in her old house. The conditions were modest, but I never felt uneasy. There was a quiet comfort in that place.
Half a month passed. The college entrance exams were approaching, and I was boarding at school, returning home only once every two or three weeks. That day, it rained heavily. I held an umbrella, walking toward the bus stop, when someone blocked my path.
It was my mom, livid. "Jolene, Fiona is at the school across the street. It's raining, and she doesn't have an umbrella. As her older sister, shouldn't you know to bring her one?"
My dad's car idled near the school gate. My mom sat in the passenger seat, clearly unwilling to step out into the rain. The car couldn't drive in, and Fiona wouldn't come out without an umbrella. So they expected me to take mine to her.
I didn't ask why they were still picking her up together. Instead, I looked down and refused, gently but firmly. "I only have one umbrella."
If I gave it to her, what would I do? I had no car to shield me from the rain.
My mom's fury flared. She got out of the car and, in front of my teachers and classmates, smacked the back of my head. I stumbled forward, humiliated. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the downpour.
"It's just an umbrella! You're the older sister, it's your duty to give it to her! Would it make you happy if she got sick in the rain?"
People around us turned to stare. My dignity crumbled under their gazes.
I kept my head down, silent for a long time, then spoke softly. "If I get wet, I'll get sick too."
She wasn't expecting defiance. Her authority as a mother was being challenged. Enraged, she struck me again and yanked the umbrella from my hand. "Ungrateful brat," she muttered, opening the umbrella to go fetch Fiona.
I lifted my gaze and watched her. Then, without a word, I snatched the umbrella back, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it until it was ruined. I pulled off the canopy and used it to cover my schoolbag.
Then I walked away, letting the rain drench me, ignoring her shouts behind me.
Cold drops struck my face. Soon, my uniform was soaked through. At the bus stop, people eyed me warily, stepping away as if afraid my dampness would cling to them.
A girl about Fiona's age hesitated, then handed me a pack of tissues. "Here. Wipe off the rain, or you'll catch a cold."
Something in me cracked. Others followed her lead. Someone placed a hand warmer in my palm. Their concern pressed against the raw edges of my chest, and before I could stop them, a few tears slipped out. I wiped them away quickly, pretending it was just the rain.
I forced a smile, murmuring, "Thank you."
How ironic. Strangers showed me more kindness than my own parents ever did.
…
The next day, Fiona arrived at my school with my parents. They had come to apologize.
Mom's face was stiff. "Jolene, I was too hasty yesterday. Don't take it to heart."
Even apologies felt like commands.
Fiona clung to my hand, her voice sweet and coaxing. "Jolene, Mom already said sorry. Come home, okay?"
Her enthusiasm felt off. Too eager. Too deliberate.
I tilted my head. "What are you saying? Isn't our family already broken apart?"
The three of them exchanged looks, finally realizing they owed me an explanation. That night, they had fought over divorce. It had escalated, but then Fiona cried. And when she cried, they softened. They decided divorce might affect her studies, so they put it on hold.
The three of them stood before me now, perfectly intact. No one had even thought to tell me.
No one had worried that their divorce might affect me, a high school senior about to take my exams.
I stared at them, my voice even. "I'm sorry, but I already took it to heart."
