Mom and Dad sat on the couch, gazing at my photo and whispering my name, their eyes full of longing.I hovered in front of them, looking at the gray creeping through their hair and the exhaustion carved into their faces. I said softly, "Dad. Mom. I'm going now."They could not hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway.I wanted to tell them that I did not blame them anymore, that I was leaving for a place where there was no pain and no suffering. I wanted to tell them to take care of themselves from now on and to stop living inside their regret.I wanted to tell them that in the next life, I hoped we would not be a family again. I hoped they would have a child who never had to go through what I did. I hoped I would find a home where I was safe—a family that understood me, protected me, and truly loved me.I drifted out of the house and out of the city. The home behind me grew smaller and smaller, and with it, the painful memories and the unbearable past fell further and further away.
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