My husband cheated. I packed my kids and drove to my parents’ house. My father opened the door, looked at my three children standing behind me, and slowly closed it. My brother said no space. My sister called me impulsive. I picked up that garbage bag, walked back to my car, and I whispered 3 words..

Chapter 1: The Weight of the Wood

I stood on the immaculately swept concrete of my parents’ front porch, the freezing autumn wind biting through my thin cardigan. Behind me huddled my three children, their breath pluming in the frigid air. At my feet sat a heavy, black polyethylene garbage bag containing the absolute bare minimum of our existence—pajamas, a few stuffed animals, toothbrushes. I raised my knuckles and knocked on that familiar oak door, the same brass knocker I had utilized a thousand times before.

This was my mother’s sanctuary. My father’s domain. And as the heavy door swung open, revealing the warm, golden light of the foyer, they looked at me, looked at the trash bag, and proceeded to close it right in my face.