I remember sitting in that kitchen, the fluorescent light buzzing over the chipped formica table, listening to my mother cry about him for hours sometimes. It was always after 9pm, after my younger sister was asleep, and I'd just sit there, swirling ice in my glass, listening to her talk until my neck ached. I’d miss out on Friday night things, the movies or just hanging out down by the creek, but she needed me. I just wanted her to feel okay, to know someone was there, even if it meant my own life felt kinda… thin. Like a paper towel you could see right through.