Do you believe in miracles? For one woman, it took losing her life to find out.
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Based on a true story, she was born on the outskirts of Minneapolis, MN. At various times throughout her life she had been extremely neglected, abused, rejected, beaten, raped, and later in life, almost killed at the hands of a deranged madman - a paranoid drug dealer who tried to kill her.
For most of her life, she was left to wonder why she even existed. She was an outcast everywhere that she went and had known nothing but extreme misery from an early age on. She spent much of her life trying to 'fit in' with a world that seemed to be nothing but bent on rejecting her.
Desperate for love and acceptance, she soon fell in with the wrong crowd, resulting in her quickly spiraling more and more out of control. Her downward spiral finally ended when she found herself trapped in the drug world and in extremely abusive relationships.
After then falling into drug addiction and losing everything that she had, including her home, finances, family, friends, and children, she fell into a deep despair, having no hope at all for any kind of a normal life.
It was then that she found out that death was not the easy way out after all.
Do you believe in miracles? For one woman, it took losing her life to find out.
*~* 1 *~*
The Making Of 'Me'
I guess you could say that even at an early age, I was left to wonder why I had ever been born. What I remember the most from my early years was that I never felt like I fit in with my own family, let alone the world I was stuck living in.
I don't recall getting any real hugs or kisses from my mother. I don't recall even getting an 'I love you' from her. I don't recall any nurturing or care when I was sick or even when I was not. I don't recall getting any affirmation from her in any way. I just cannot recall any time she had ever been there for me as a mother.
Instead, what I recall were the many beatings that I got from her, beatings for walking in my own house at the wrong time when she would be entertaining various different men upstairs in her room.
The fact that I had the nerve to walk into my own house at what I did not know was 'the wrong time' would anger her. She would lash out at me in extreme anger after the men had left, hitting at me with her fists and ranting on and on about how I had ruined her time.
What she had meant by that, I didn't care about at the time. The only thing that I cared about was taking care of my beaten and bruised head that she had broken my hairbrush over.
The only thing I had cared about at the time was getting away from her after the beatings so that I could escape to my bedroom and ponder on what it was I had done now that had angered my mother so much.
It did not take much to anger my mother, and half the time I never even knew, nor could I figure out, what it was that had set her off resulting in one of her many tirades.
All I knew is when she went off, she spewed out enough venom to kill a horse. If it wasn't her fists doing the damage to me at the tender age of five years old and up, it most certainly was her verbal abuse.
From an early age on, all I could mostly remember hearing come from my mother's mouth were the words 'you should have never been born', or 'I hate you, you little tramp you evil home wrecker' or a lot of times, something far worse.
Keep in mind that as a five year old, I had absolutely no idea what a 'tramp' or an 'evil home wrecker' was, but for some reason I did understand the words 'you should have never been born', and believe me, they hit as hard as her fist.
Not only did I understand those words but they are the words that had stuck with my little heart the most. They would also be the words that I would hear the most coming from my mother over and over again for many years to come.
Hearing those words over and over again from an early age on started to do their damage quickly. After a while I started believing those words. And the more that I started believing those words, the more incredibly insecure I became.
I started feeling like not only was I actually not supposed to be born, but I felt that somehow I was a mistake. I felt that somehow my life was a mistake, and now I was trapped in this body to deal with the mistake of being in a life that I was not supposed to be in to begin with. And yet, here I was now what?
I felt detached from everyone - like I did not belong anywhere. I felt detached from my surroundings, like they weren't really my surroundings because I wasn't supposed to be there, after all.
I started feeling like I could not really enjoy anything in my life because it really was not mine to enjoy. I felt like I was just this empty shell of a person that was destined to walk this earth in an absolutely meaningless life - all because I should have never been born - but had the unfortunate luck to have been brought into this world by means which were out of my control to begin with.
I was lost at an early age and it would only grow from there and become even worse. By the time I started school when I was five, I was so insecure about myself and everything around me that I would burst into tears over the slightest little thing that upset me.
I remember going to school with the same feelings that I had when I was at home with my siblings. I felt awkward at school, feeling out of place, constantly fearing that my class mates would somehow find out that I was a mistake and that I should have never been born.
I could not look people in the eye, even at the age of five. I had no self worth so I thought that they would not find any worthiness in me as well. I was already miserable inside but the teachers just assumed that my quietness was because I was shy.
They were correct to an extent, but only because I felt so unworthy of anyone's time or affection. Mix that with the self hatred that I felt about myself because I 'was not supposed to be born', and indeed, that had made me too incredibly shy to speak to anyone.
I went through Kindergarten amazed at the thought of the fun that I could have at school if I would only allow myself to have it, yet I would dread the end of the day when I would have to go back home to the woman who was known as my mother.
I continued to be quiet at school, not only because of my own awkwardness, but also because I sensed and saw that I did not fit in. Many times the other kids at school made fun of me because of the curly mass of hair that was on my head as well as the clothes that I wore.
The clothes that I wore to school were often times very wrinkled and smelly, the result of me having to dig and find these wrinkled, dirty smelling clothes from the floor of the laundry room because my mother refused to do the laundry.
The laundry at my house would lay piled up in the laundry room for weeks at a time, heaped high and smelling worse than anything you could ever imagine. Sad to say, often times it was the only place for me to find anything to wear.
Because I was so young I did not know how to work the washing machine that was a very old model and had a nasty wringer on it to wring the clothes through so that they could be hung outside on the clothes line.
More than once I had gotten my tiny fingers trapped in the wringer bars of that washing machine, leaving me wincing and with no other choice but to pick through the heaping pile of nasty clothes to try to find the least smelly ones that I could wear to school.
I was no fool, even at that age. I knew that those clothes smelled awful but I just did not have any other choice but to wear them or miss school and I wasn't about to take that route.
Not only was I afraid that if I missed school my mother would beat me for it but I actually did not want to miss school, because to me, going to school was actually my escape to get away from the person who called herself my mother to everyone around me when she wanted to make herself look good.
I was also teased at school because not only were my clothes wrinkled and smelly, but they were horribly outdated. While everyone around me wore denim or plaid, I wore the same outfits over and over again, all made out of the same ugly colored polyester.
Polyester pants, polyester shirts it didn't matter. Polyester was polyester, and it was a big no no, the worst fashion mistake that you could make at school or anywhere else for that matter back then.
You would be amazed at how cruel kids can be at school when you don't fit in. The kids not only teased me relentlessly all during elementary school because of the smelly clothes that I wore but they would also relentlessly chase me home just about every day after school.
They would run to catch up to me, calling me horrible names and spitting at me. They would throw rocks at me, hitting me with them so hard that it would bring tears to my eyes every time that one of those rocks hit me in the head or hit me square in the face.
But yet I refused to allow them to see me cry. I would look at them defiantly and then start to run home with them chasing me the whole way and with them still throwing rocks the entire time.
They would chase me until they reached a couple of houses before mine. Then they would very suddenly and very notoriously quiet down and turn and run back the way that they had come from, laughing loudly at me the whole time.
Of course I knew that they stopped chasing me when they reached a certain point because they were afraid someone from my house might be outside to see them. What they didn't know was that there was no one at my house that would care.
My mother obviously did not care, my dad was never at home - too busy at the bar until late at night - and my siblings were always busy and off somewhere else doing their own thing.
Often times than not, after being chased home by the neighborhood kids, I would beat myself up for being 'stupid enough' to forget to wait after school until well after they had left before trying to walk home.
Many times to avoid the kids I would leave as fast as I could right as the last bell rang. Then I would run as fast as my little feet would allow me to and I would run down the embankment that was by the street where the school was at.
This embankment led to a small creek and culvert. I would run down that hill and hide inside of that huge tunnel type of culvert, peering out only to see if I could spot the neighborhood kids giving up on waiting for me and leaving the school area to finally walk home.
Sometimes I would crouch down in that culvert for a very long time, not sure if the kids had gone by yet or not. To me, it was worth the wait if it meant that I would not have to deal with rocks pummeling my head or getting spit in my eye.
Sometimes I wasn't sure of what was bruised more by these kids my head and face, or my heart. One thing I was sure of though back then only ate at me even more.
My suspicions of not belonging anywhere were only confirmed by these kids and I was now convinced that I would never know exactly why I did not fit in with them or at home. Still, in my tortured little mind, all I could think about was what I had already known all along.
That I should have never been born to begin with.
*~* 2 *~*
Finding Out The Hard Way
My being picked on relentlessly throughout elementary school did nothing but cause more problems for me. I became extremely defensive the more that I tried to create a world for myself that I felt that I would fit in to.
When I was eleven years old, I began to drink. At first I would sneak a couple of beers from the garage parties that my dad would have, slamming them down quickly, hoping to catch a buzz that would medicate me enough to want to forget about my pathetic life.
During the school year I had managed to find some new friends who now accepted me for who I was. These friends were from the wrong crowd, but I didn't care. I was just happy to have someone, anyone, pay some attention to me.
I now thought that I was cool for hanging out with them. They not only embraced me but they introduced me to smoking cigarettes as well as marijuana. Now I thought that I was really cool because I was smoking cigarettes and pot and was getting away with it without my mother or my dad finding out.
Little did I know at the time that smoking marijuana was the gateway that opened up the door for far worse things yet to come. But hey at eleven years old, I thought that I knew it all.
By the age of twelve, I was a raging alcoholic. Not only was I now drinking hard booze - black berry brandy and whiskey but I was now more defiant toward my mother than ever.
I was tired of her abuse and I had decided, in my new-found boldness from the marijuana and booze, that I was going to do everything that I could to get her back for all of the years of abuse at her hands.
I mouthed off every chance that I got, which always resulted in her hitting me ten times worse than before. But at the time, I didn't care. To me, it gave me the perfect excuse to do what I did which was run away from home and not just one time, but a lot.
When I ran away from home I would sometimes run by myself, ending up alone in some far away city, or ending up with complete strangers - which at the time - I did not see the immediate danger of.
Other times I would run away with someone from the crowd that I now belonged to from school. We would run away to whatever location we felt like going to, trying to act cool the whole time. Little did we realize that our acting 'cool' was only setting us up for far worse things in the future, which we were unable to see at the time.
Sometimes after I ran away my brother would track me down and drag me home, livid that I was with such people. Most of the time though, I would end up being captured by state or local Law Enforcement and brought to the Juvenile Detention Center in whichever city was closest to where I had gotten caught in.
Because my mother had never driven a day in her life, she would have to have one of my sisters drive her to whichever city that I was in to bring me back home. Many times I would have to listen to her mouth calling me many filthy and nasty names all the way back home. Many other times she would give me the silent treatment which I relished.
Even though I was twelve and had new friends from the wrong crowd, I still felt like a nobody, like I just did not have a purpose in life. Although I was only twelve, I already had known a deep scarring of my heart from all of the years of rejection, abandonment, and abuse.
I already felt that my life was ruined so I figured, why not just ruin it even more? I just plain out did not care about anything any more. And it showed in my attitude which I was quick to show to everyone and the more, the merrier.
Being a defiant twelve year old that was in the throes of a deeply rooted rebellion, what did I know about life? Absolutely nothing because for my whole life I had gotten nothing but negative from my mother and never got any other guidance from my dad because he was just not there for any of us very much of the time.
Living in and growing up in a rather dysfunctional home, I had not gotten any real guidance or any other suggestions on how to live my life the right way versus the wrong way.
I had absolutely no clue that there was a different way - a better way - that I could have been living my life. Whenever I looked back and thought about my pathetic life before I had all of these new friends from the wrong crowd, all I could see was the misfit little girl from elementary school who was chased, spit at and stoned for so many years.
At the time I felt that there was no way that I wanted to return to that sort of torturous living so I went on thinking that I had to kind of re invent myself with the new friends that I was able to acquire through my continuous wrong actions of rebellion.
I continued on with my partying and I ran away from home at any chance that I could get. The more that I was hanging out with this wrong crowd, the more that I was convinced that my life was nothing more than what it now turned out to be which was nothing.
When I was thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen, I continued on in my rebellious ways of drinking, experimenting with drugs, and running away from home. Whenever my new friends would introduce me to a new drug that I hadn't tried before I would jump at the chance of taking it.
I went from starting out smoking cigarettes and marijuana to experimenting with cocaine, LSD, speed, downers, hash, and whatever else my friends could get their hands on. More than once I had a bad trip from the acid that we took, but still, I did not learn my lesson nor did I once think that I could have been in danger of an accidental overdose.
I continued using drugs because I wanted to escape my pathetic life and because I wanted to be as rebellious as I could against my mother. Even watching another girl my age freak out on LSD and get taken away to a hospital did not stop me from using and experimenting with drugs.
When I was just fifteen years old, I finally managed to overdose on alcohol. I had gotten high on whatever drugs that I could get my hands on and then drank close to a case of beer by myself.
I don't remember too much about the overdose itself except that it hurt when they shoved a good-sized tube up through my nose and then down my throat to pump my stomach.
They claimed that they needed to pump my stomach because they were unsure of what drugs I had taken along with the alcohol and they wanted to try to get whatever out of my stomach and then get something in me that would counteract whatever needed counteracting.
I stayed in the hospital for a couple of days and then I was released. Still, I did not learn my lesson. I overdosed again shortly after that and again stayed in the hospital for a couple of days. And again when I was released, I went right back to the same old way that I was living before.
Because I had no guidance at home, I had nobody there to tell me that I needed to change my lifestyle before I ended up permanently hurt - or even worse yet - dead. I had nobody there to tell me that what I was doing was wrong and that I was on the path to self-destruction, so I just kept doing it.
In a matter of fact, my mother was going through this bizarre faze herself at home where she thought that it was cool to start buying marijuana, speed, and LSD from my friends and then try to party with them.
I, of course, did not think that it was cool. I did not like the fact that my mother was now calling my friends to get dope from them. I was extremely
embarrassed by her actions which I felt were intentional just to further humiliate me.
But sad to say, many of my friends thought that it was cool that my mother was buying dope for all of us to get high on and they started coming over more and more to party with my mother.
They also liked coming over because not only did she buy and supply everyone with a lot of the drugs that we used to get high with but she would also get rides from my friends to the liquor store and she would buy us alcohol to drink as well.
So, I had nothing else to do but shrink back into the quickly fading shadow of myself, becoming more and more messed up by the day, all while my mother continued contributing to not only my juvenile-delinquency, but also to my self-destruction at such a young age.
Because I was so embarrassed by my mothers behavior, I started partying more and more away from home. The way I had it figured, maybe if I wasn't at home very much my friends would finally stop coming over. Sometimes this worked, other times it did not.
I started randomly hitch-hiking my way around town, many of the times ending up at parties with the strangers that picked me up. Many times, though, I would end up way across town with nothing to do but hitch-hike back and forth until I found someone that was willing to bring me to a party. I didn't think of the dangers of hitch hiking, nor did I care at the time.
Back then I was full of so much defiance and hate that I was almost daring people to mess with me just so that I would have a reason to go off on them. I was full of so much anger stemming from my pathetic life that it would have been so easy for me to just blow up at someone and not really care.
After all Juvenile Detention Centers were nothing new to me and back then when I was messed up I had always had the thinking that because they weren't new to me, why should I have cared how many times that I ended up there? Little did I realize that this wrong thinking would come back to haunt me later on in life.
Then just as quickly, more bad decisions came along that would profoundly affect my life. One day I decided to go partying with a girl that was widely known as the neighborhood bad girl.
We went to this married guys house down the block from her house where she knew that this guy as well as his brother would be there alone with some bottles of wine for us to drink. I went to drink the alcohol, of course, because it was a free buzz.
While I was there drinking wine with the brother, the other girl disappeared into the bedroom with the married guy and left us alone. Feeling quite buzzed from the wine and rather enjoying the attention in the form of compliments from this guy, I thought that I had it made.
Though I was always acting cool in front of the people that I was partying with, deep down inside I knew that I was still miserable and extremely lonely. I never got any attention from anyone at home - or away from home for that matter - other than my getting a small amount of attention when someone would acknowledge my presence at parties just long enough to hand me some alcohol or dope.
I longed for love real love in my life. I longed for affection real affection in my life. I had a burning desire to belong - to truly and happily belong - to someone in my life.
As lonely as I was, when this guy paid attention to me that day, I was soaking it up with everything that I had. Little did I know at the time that this guy was only telling me everything that I wanted to hear because he had only one thing in mind and that was to have sex. A one night stand type of sex with no strings attached and no further desire to have any sort of a lasting relationship with me.
But being the virgin that I was at the time, and not knowing any better, I let this ladies man make his play on me. And how I wish now that I could go back and change things but of course I can't so I have to live with the decision that I had made then.
You see, I had this fantasy type of thinking when it came to the idea of me finally losing my virginity with 'the man of my dreams'.
I had this idea in my head that it would be with this hot guy - which this guy was - and that it would start out with him telling me all kinds of beautiful things that he thought about me - which this guy did - and that when he took my virginity he would instantly realize how much that he truly did love me and then he would pick me up, sweeping me into his big strong arms, and then he would whisk me away to be his bride and we would live happily ever after.
Yes, I was convinced in my already tortured little mind - mainly because of the alcohol talking to me and because of my own naivety - that this guy that was about to take my virginity just had to be my Prince Charming coming to my rescue because after all he wouldn't just take my virginity for the heck of it now, would he?
Being as young as I was, I had somehow managed to convince myself that when a guy wanted to do something as serious as have sex with a girl that it must surely mean that he had the intention to get serious and have a relationship a boyfriend/girlfriend type of relationship with the girl.
I was under the misconception that if I slept with a guy that it would somehow make the guy love me and it would make him somehow then want to stay with me, instantly making me his one and only girlfriend and then eventually making me his wife.
Boy was I ever wrong, and of course, it turned out to just be another thing that scarred me throughout my life. This hot guy got what he wanted, which was just the sex part of it, and then when he realized that I was a virgin he quickly booted me out of his house.
I quickly walked home by myself, heart breaking tears now flowing freely down my cheeks. I could think of nothing other than how humiliated that I was now feeling at not only losing my virginity to a guy who did not love me but also feeling hurt and lost - completely devastated - over the fact that he had rejected me and 'the love' that I had for him.
At the time, I never thought that I was too young to really even have a clue what real love was. I just assumed that a guy would automatically know that 'it must be love' for me to want to go that far with him - far enough to actually go through with having sex with him.
And in my naοve thinking, I just automatically assumed that it meant that a guy had 'real' feelings for you if he was willing to have sex with you. Again, boy did I find out the hard way that just because a guy wanted sex did not mean that he felt anything at all for you.
When I got home, I quickly showered, glad to have this guy's cologne scent washed off of me and even more glad to feel somewhat clean after this guy had made me feel so dirty by rejecting me and then kicking me out of his home.
It was humiliating enough being rejected by 'my first love' but it was even more embarrassing and humiliating to know that not only did he reject and boot me out of his house, but now my virginity was wasted on this guy, and there was no way that I could ever get it back.
I felt anguish over the fact that I was no longer pure waiting for the perfect man that would come along in my life, sweep me off my feet and make me his bride and it was all because I was stupid enough to go drinking and jump in bed with the first guy that came along and lied to my virgin ears, whispering 'sweet nothings' in them and telling me everything that I wanted and needed to hear in order to convince my desperate heart to give in to the meaningless lust that he just had to satisfy within himself for his own selfish reasons, while not even once thinking of how it would or how it could possibly affect me.
Then to add to my heartbreakingly deep felt misery, for the longest time after losing my virginity to this guy I had it in my head, I mean I was completely and utterly convinced, that he would somehow realize that he had been wrong in rejecting me and that he would somehow miraculously 'wake up' and figure out that he really did love me with all of his heart.
Then of course - the way that I saw it - he would automatically just know that we really did belong together and this realization would then bother him so much that he could no longer stand it and he would come running back to me to sweep me up into his arms to be his love forever.
So, being convinced in my young mind of this horrible injustice to my virginity and my ever after, I would slowly walk past his house a few times a week hoping that his seeing me walking by would somehow prompt him to have feelings of love for me and these feelings would then overwhelm him, causing him to run out to where I was at on the street as he loudly proclaimed his love for me for the whole world to hear.
I walked past his house day after day making sure that I was dressed to the nines to grab his attention. I did my hair just right. I did my make up just right. I found clean clothes to wear - borrowed from my sisters closet.
Then as I approached his house as I walked along the street, I would keep my chin high, a false smile plastered on my face. I was convinced that as I walked by and sneaked a sideways glance out of the corner of my eyes toward his living room window that sooner or later he would notice me walking by and then it would only be a matter of time before he came running out of the house to come chasing after me.
After a few days of doing this, I was walking by one day when I saw movement in the living room window just as I was almost completely gone by his house. My heart leaped with joy as I realized that my true love had glanced out of the curtained windows and had actually seen me!
I was overwhelmed with happiness at thinking that all of my hard work at getting dolled up and walking by was finally going to work! All of my strutting and smiling pretty was finally paying off! I had finally gotten his attention!
Still, that day he did not come out of the house. I turned around and continued walking by, going the opposite direction now, while I headed back home. I smiled even wider now that I realized that I definitely did have an audience.
Tomorrow would be the day, I thought to myself. I would have to make sure that I dressed up even more prettier than I was when I walked by this day. I hurried home, excited more than ever now.
I was giddy with anticipation of what would now happen. I was on cloud nine all that day and night. I could not help but smile at the attention that I had brought to myself by walking by his house. I thought of how smart that I was for thinking of such an elaborate scheme to get my true love's attention.
I ran to my room and I flopped belly down on my bed, flipping over as I daydreamed about how it would only be a matter of hours now before my true love would run outside to meet me and then take me away to be his for ever!
I thought about how I would be changing my name when we got married and I was so happy to be losing the name that I had. I thought about how we would be getting a house and I would need to cook and clean to be the most perfect wife that he ever saw.
Then I gasped as I realized that at fifteen, I didn't know how to cook. But my worries soon faded away when I realized that it would not matter to my true love that I could not cook. He would love me so much that a minor little thing such as me not knowing how to cook would not bother him in the least! After all we were in love! I couldn't wait to see him!
The next day I dressed up in a cool pair of my sisters jeans and a long jean jacket. Though it was warmer out I still thought that the long jean jacket would be an attention grabber so I made sure that I wore it with a good pair of shoes and the most perfect shirt that I could find to wear.
Then I headed out to walk for what I was convinced to be the final time past my true love's home and then off I would go to marry him. I couldn't wait to be his new wife forever!
I started to run part way down the block but then stopped running because I did not want to break a sweat. It would not do to have my true love have to kiss a sweaty face now, would it?
I saw his house in the distance and noticed that there was something funny sticking up in his front yard by the curb. What the heck is that, my mind raced. Why, it looked like a for sale sign that a Realtor would put in the yard of a home that they were trying to sell!
No, No, No, my mind screamed out at me as I quickened my pace. There must be some mistake! This house CAN'T be for sale! Not now! Not when my true love has yet to claim me as his, my mind screamed out even louder this time.
Horror at the thought of my true love moving away grasped at my very being as I felt a numbing cold pang wrap it's fingers tightly around my heart and begin to squeeze. My heart started racing wildly as I became even more and more confused by the moment at what was now going on.
There has to be some sort of mistake! The Realtor surely must have put the sign in the wrong yard, my mind tried to reason with itself. He loves me! There's no way that he would just up and move now! There has to be a MISTAKE, I found myself now yelling at the top of my lungs for the whole world to hear.
I didn't care who heard me. I was too upset and too full of disbelief at what I was now seeing in front of my very eyes. Still, looking at the sign, I was convinced that it was all a mistake and that it was just placed in the wrong yard. It just had to be!
I ran to my true love's front yard. Sure enough the for sale sign was in his yard. I quickly glanced up at the house and saw empty windows where just yesterday there were curtains hanging -the same curtains where I saw someone peering from behind.
I ran up to the house and looked in the living room window. The living room was bare, all of the furniture, pictures, and other belongings now gone. I cupped my hands against the glare of the sun on the window and peered toward where I knew the kitchen was. It, too, was bare.
I ran around to the side of the house and peeked into the door window. Every picture, every knickknack, every shoe, every dish, was gone. I ran to the garage and peered in the garage window. The garage was empty.
I slumped against the garage door. My heart sank faster than the Titanic. Dread filled my heart. A deep depression quickly enveloped me, trying to strangle the breath right out of me. I was devastated.
My mind raced, trying to put together the pieces of my rapidly breaking heart. I don't understand! Why would my true love just up and move like that? Why didn't he say good-bye before he left? Why? - my mind screamed out at me, now being quieter than normal.
I slowly started walking back toward the side door to the house. I was going to sit down on the steps and contemplate what to do when I noticed the neighbor outside by her fence.
I quickly walked over to her and asked if she would happen to know where the people that used to live in that house went to. She looked suspiciously at me, and then informed me that the people that had been living there had quickly and strangely moved out of their home in the middle of the night.
I thanked her and turned to walk home. I was now completely crushed. I could not believe that my true love had moved out like a thief in the night. Why on earth would he do that, I wondered.
I would need to get home quickly, wrack my brain, and figure this out. My mind raced as I cringed at how I had thought that I had it all figured out to begin with and now this came up.
But I tell you what does a fifteen year old know?