One day he just left. He came home with his usual bag of dirty clothes. Two days later he packed up more clothes than normal and left. I guess he told Mom he was moving out but I don't remember if he said anything to any of us or even if she did.
It was like magic. One day everyone was living in fear the next we weren't. I wrote in my book a few more times just to vent but then put it away. I had a big box of "treasures" in my closet and put the book under the lining still fearing the judgement of others.
It was in a way anticlimactic. I'm not sure what I expected but I thought I would have felt better.
A few weeks later the strangest thing happened. I hear my folks fighting. It was supposed to be a thing of the past but here they were standing on the front porch arguing. The strangest part was after a little listening I could tell my mother was standing up to him. I mean putting her foot down, fearlessly standing up to him. He had decided he was moving back home. She told him he wasn't welcome back and would have to find someplace else to go. He left again just like that. Without pushing or punching he just left!
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