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Ximena Gutierrez

Prof, Cunningham

ENGL 1113

05/09/2022

Personal Narrative

Divorce is not something uncommon. I know lots of people whose parents are no longer

together. But never had I imagined that it could’ve happened with my family. Sure, my parents

would argue, but whose parents don’t? They didn’t know I could hear them, but when it’s after

10 pm in a house where their bedroom is down the hall from yours, you can make some things

out. It was a random Saturday afternoon when my dad offered to take us out for lunch,

something he does often, so we didn’t think anything of it. As we were getting ready to leave, we

asked where mom was and if she was going to join us. The look on his face was sad, but he said

she wasn’t feeling well. This also was not uncommon for us to hear, so I didn’t think anything of

it. A new fried chicken restaurant had just opened, so we decided to go there. After we’d ordered

and sat down, my dad said that he had something to tell us. I saw that sad look again and didn’t

know what to expect. My dad had never been one to show emotions, unlike my mom, who was a

big hugger and loved to show us affection; we rarely ever saw him smile and were given a rare

hug on our birthdays or when we did well in school. I immediately thought something had

happened to one of his brothers, our uncles, or our grandmother. I never thought he would drop

the divorce bomb on us in a restaurant that smelled like fried chicken on that random Saturday

afternoon. Immediately my little sister started crying, closely followed by my brother and then I,

who had felt like my heart had been smashed into a million little pieces. My parents were

separating. How, why, when. My brain was trying to process what had been said while also
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forming all these questions. I could hardly breathe; I was dizzy and gripped the sticky table with

my hands. I looked up at my dad, who also had tears in his eyes; this is when I knew he was

probably just as hurt as I was. I had never seen my father cry, not when he tore a muscle trying

to show us some karate moves from his childhood, not even when he heard that his youngest

brother had died after years of battling cancer. Sitting across from me in a chicken joint, I could

see tears filling his eyes. The waitress came by with our food and noticed we were all crying. She

didn’t say a word as she set our food down, but I could tell she was uncomfortable and maybe

even sad for us. She hurried away as my dad took a few deep breaths, “This was not an easy

decision, but we’ve been having some problems now, and we think this is the best thing to do.”

More tears were shed, and I had suddenly lost my appetite; the chicken in front of me looked

disgusting and unappetizing. I couldn’t think, my throat felt swollen, and I couldn’t speak. We

sat there in silence until my brother picked up some chicken and started to eat. My sister

followed suit, and then my dad, while I remained seated, not moving a muscle. Eventually, I

picked up a fry and started to eat it slowly while contemplating what to say next. My sister beat

me to it and asked what would happen to us and whom we would live with. My dad looked

troubled, but he answered that he didn’t know quite yet and that we would cross that bridge when

we got there. After eating, we drove back home, where we found my mother still in bed. She

wasn’t asleep, just lying on her side with red puffy eyes and a tear-stained pillow. I hovered at

the door, debating whether I wanted to go in or not and deciding against it. Instead, I went into

my room and sat on my bed. I began thinking about what it would be like to live with each

parent separately, only to be able to see one parent at a time without the other one present. Hours

went by, and I remained in my room, alternating between crying and occupying myself with

other things like reading or knitting. Eventually, my aunt knocked at my door. She was my
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mom’s twin and my godmother, so she was like a second mom to me; “Hey, how are you?” She

asked though she knew the answer; she didn’t know how else to greet me. I shrugged my

shoulders as fresh tears started to well up in my eyes; she walked over to my bed and gave me a

tight hug; “Come on, I’m taking you and your siblings out to dinner. Your cousins have been

asking about you guys”. I nodded reluctantly as I got up to slip on my shoes while she crossed

the hall to my little sister’s room to tell her the same thing. 20 min later, the three of us were

seated at Olive Garden with my aunt, uncle, and two younger cousins. The air was tense and

smelled of garlic and cheese. The grownups tried to make small talk, but they also wanted to

give us space. Meanwhile, the younger cousins colored away on their menus and talked about

what they had seen at school that day. After we’d eaten, they dropped us off at home with

takeout for both my parents, “Just give them some time, hon. It’ll all work out, don’t worry.” As

we walked into the house, I didn’t know what to expect. Would we find it the way we left it

earlier? Would one of them be gone? To my surprise, neither was the case. Instead, we found our

parents watching TV on their bed, with no tears, no puffy eyes, nothing. We stood at the door

until my mom turned to look at us and waved us inside. We stood by her bed as she took our

hands and apologized for the bad day we’d had, “Your dad and I aren’t getting a divorce.

Everything is okay, and we’re sorry for scaring you guys like that”. My siblings cheered and

hugged both our parents, but I stayed where I was and didn’t say anything. Sure, I was happy

they weren’t separating, but why tell us something like that and backtrack from it like it’s

nothing. I wanted an explanation, I wanted answers, but I decided to push my feelings aside and

enjoy the happiness of knowing that my parents would stay together after all.