Mum and Dad were arguing more and more, and the house was always full of shouting. Accusations were thrown like poison arrows across the kitchen table. I didn’t know what was going on and part of me didn’t want to because, whatever it was, I knew it was something bad. I’d never ever seen them argue like this before. It’s hard being a child when your parents fall out of love with one another. Part of the situation makes you believe that somewhere, amongst all the rows and petty misgivings, they love you just that little bit less. I hated the shouting and every time they argued I wanted to stand on my chair and scream until they stopped. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t make any difference; even if I did scream, I wondered if they’d even notice. In the end, I decided not to get caught up in it all. I reckoned the more I dragged my feet on the way home, the less I’d have to listen to.One day, when I pushed open the front door, I realised there were no raised voices.
