I imagine with gratitude how strenuous it must have been for them to travel to my aunt’s house together that January morning. They didn’t even stay for the drink offered them, and that was something they never refused. They left my two suitcases in the foyer and made their goodbyes there. The night before, my dad had explained to me that he and my mom thought very differently about many subjects, such as my education. He also assured me that sooner or later things would work themselves out and I’d be able to move in with one of them and spend vacations with the other, like all the other kids with divorced parents at my school whom I’d been observing with curiosity, like you would the victim of a civil war, for some time. Mom didn’t say anything. I remember her that night, sitting on a pillow in her favorite position, her legs folded into a triangle and her chin resting on her knees. My parents did not expand upon that explanation on the way to the housing complex. They greeted my aunt and uncle without looking them in the eyes and ordered me, in front of them, to behave myself and do as I was told. After that, without even saying when they’d come for me or at least come visit, they got into the car and disappeared.