The mafia's captive bride

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passing still heavy on my heart, I was met with a sight that

eks, stood in our living room, his hands moving with a sense

d the air, a stark contrast to the eerie silence

ouldn't possibly be real. My eyes scanned the room looking

ed, his jaw set in a determined line. The bags under his eye

was he here? Why was he here now, packing my things like a stranger? The hospit

I watched him pack my bags with a sense of urgency.."We're leaving this

leave? I felt a surge of anger and resistance, unwilling to abandon the

d determined. I knew I had no choice or say i

feeling of despair. My feet seemed rooted to the spot, refusing to move, as

. I stumbled along beside him being pulled by him, my eyes still fixed on the ho

t all behind was like a

the ground, my body resisting the pull of my father'

a mix of urgency and desperation. I fell onto my s

a distance, turning smaller and smaller, a tiny, unreachable

alized I might never set foot in that house again, never feel the warmth of th

m one place to another. Every month,

t direction or purpose. My dad silence and my own

one place long enough to call it home. What was my dad hiding? What was he runnin

anew, navigating unfamiliar faces, classrooms and the whi

tless from both boys and girls, a

They'd push me around, trip me in the hallways, and steal my lunch mo

on it like predators. I was alone, always alo

with a sneer, a taunt that cut deep into my soul. "Drunkard's daughter!"

move. His alcohol fueled outbursts, his loud rants, and his chaotic be

verywhere, a constant reminder that w

y dad's behavior reflecting on me like a bad omen. I

ntity, my self-worth measured by the

life I didn't choose, and with a fa

city called Willow Creek when I was 19. The countless moves had blur

oots and call a place a home. As we unpacked our bags a

and we could build a life free from the shackles of our past? Only time would tell, for th