I begged. I cried. I reminded her I was still a kid. That this was my home. That my dad wouldn’t have wanted this.
Her face didn’t change.
“Your father isn’t here anymore,” she said flatly. “And I’m not running a charity.”
I stayed as long as I could—two more weeks, scraping together excuses, hoping she’d soften.
She didn’t.
One night, she left my suitcase by the front door.
“I’ve arranged the paperwork,” she said. “Boarding school. You leave tomorrow.”
That was it.
No hug. No goodbye.
Just… gone.
Boarding school felt like another planet.
Cold hallways. Strangers everywhere. Rules for everything. I kept my head down, spoke when spoken to, and tried not to think about the house. About my dad. About her.
