My dad has met many women in his life.
They loved him, hated him, stood by the river for him, called and hung up on him.
He never looked back.
When I was eleven, an eighteen-year-old woman sat in his car.
She is only seven years older than me.
Later she became my stepmother.
They fell in love, quarreled, went under the knife and separated under the same roof.
On the day of divorce, she wanted nothing.
He probably thought that she would be like those people in the past, unable to go far and come back.
She didn't.
Now he is forty-two and she is twenty-six.
He is old and she is still young.
He still uses the lighter I gave him when I was a kid.
Click, click, the third time it clicked.
The firelight was very small, only enough to illuminate half of his face.
I stood behind the door and suddenly felt that all the romance in his life had finally gathered into the same thing.
Called retribution.
Purpose: We all want to be different from our parents, but in the end we often end up living in their shadow.