The window was open just a crack, just enough for voices to slip through. It always seems that when one of them gets angry at her they get angry at each other. A friendly voice ping-pongs about her skull amidst the string of obscenities. Obscenities and suitcases. Hiding in the garden she closes her eyes and allows the tears to roll down her cheek and she mouths the four friendly words and hopes that her parents can hear them too; “it's not your fault.”

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