Three days. That's all it had taken for my luxury life to come to an abrupt end. That's all it had taken for my parents to break up. For them to become divorced. For them to move into separate houses. For me to never be in the same house as both of them ever again. Three days, seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. You would not think so much could happen in such a short amount of time. It all started when I heard the screaming. The shouts that echoed through the narrow hallways of our two story house. The shouting was quiet at first, more like two people trying to talk at once. I thought that my parents must just be having their weekly debate on who was making dinner or who was going to drop me off at practice. They always fought about silly things. I never thought once about their fighting back then. Their constant bickering was just part of our lifestyle. Why should an argument end any different this time? However, this time, the argument was prolonged for much longer than usual. About 10 minutes into the argument, I could begin to make out most of the words from my bedroom doorway. I was slowly trying to inch closer to the stairway without making any noise. I did not want them to know that I was eavesdropping, but I had a feeling they knew that I could hear them. “I had told you! What? Only like, a thousand times by now! I can not pay the taxes if you don't make enough money for me to pay them!” I could hear my mom snapping at my dad. “How am I supposed to make enough money to pay for the taxes and your endless shopping sprees? Don't you know that there are more people than just you in this household?” My dad snapped back. They had been fighting over taxes the whole time. But, once they finished their argument over taxes, even though neither one was happy, they moved on to other topics. Like me. Their house. Their marriage. Who will get the house? Who will make the money? When will the child, me, come to visit? None of the questions made sense to me. Unless, the one thing that I dreaded would happen was finally coming true. Divorce. Finally making it to the top of the stairway without making any noise, I sat down on the top step and thought about what I just found out. I did not even bother listing to the rest of their conversation. The last thing I heard was “I'll call the lawyer tomorrow,” and the sound of my dad slamming the front door. It's been three days since my dad left and within that time, they had gotten divorced and my dad had moved out. I've spent most of the time in my room, eating junk food and watching videos on my tablet. When I was not being lazy and sulking over what had happened, I was contemplating what I would say to my dad when I saw him next. Would I be snotty and tell him that I would never forgive him? Or, should I forgive him and try to keep in touch? I was so busy trying to decide what to say that when the time came for me to see him again on that third afternoon after the divorce, I still did not know what to say. I only knew one thing. He was my father and no matter what happens, he still will be. I should not hold a grudge against him even if it was his fault. I was brought into this world because of him. I still wanted him to be a part of my world, even if we no longer lived under the same roof.