"What are you doing here?" I say sharply. My face scowls at the sight of my dad. I clenched my fists, fighting back the urge to punch him right in the face.

Jonathan runs down the stairs, holding a small box in his hand, and there was a huge smile on his face. It was the first time I have seen my brother smile like that—a smile that reaches from ear to ear.

"Thank you for the phone, Dad!" Jonathan jumps at my dad, hugging him.

I continue to stare at my dad, furious that he was here. He smiles at me. It's apparent that it wasn't a genuine one.

"Aaren, your home," My mom's head pops into the living room doorframe. She smiles at me genuinely.

I look at her, not knowing whether to be mad or try to be understanding for letting dad into our home.

"What's he doing here?" I point at my dad as if he were an inanimate object that my mom bought online from surfing craigslist at five in the morning.

"I just—"

"I wasn't talking to you," I immediately cut him off. Just the sound of his voice irritates me. "Have you gone mad and invited the devil into our home?"

My mom sighs, shaking her fury before it takes a toll on her, "That's not the right way to talk about your dad," she says softly.

My mom quickly grabs my hand and drags me across the room, entering the kitchen. She rests both of her hands on the kitchen island, and her back turned on me.

"What?" I say as irritation quickly pricked on me, "You want me to encourage the fact that he left and just went back here?" I chuckled bitterly.

My mom turns her heel around and faces me.

"Or you want me to be thankful that he went back after cheating on you?" I say in a low, soft voice. Trying to mask the pain the moment I saw my dad again. The only emotion I've never wanted to claim for myself is that being in pain makes it seem vulnerable.

I continue to speak, "Are you just going to keep letting him in, then I'll keep on watching you get hurt after he leaves you again?"

After six months away from our father and relocating to a new town in California, my father made a surprise visit to our home in San Diego, which my mother had purchased. He remained with us. He promised my mother that he'd try to be better, which made me and Jonathan thrilled at the thought of being together as a family once again.

He left on a Sunday morning after three months of staying in our house. I overheard him on the phone with a woman he addressed as 'babe.' He didn't say goodbye to my mother, Jonathan, nor me. I just stood there watching him walk away in silence as if he were attempting to flee after stealing something from our house.

My mother cried herself to sleep, not understanding why he had abandoned us once again. She slept on the couch in the living room for two weeks, wishing and waiting that my father would return, but he never did.

He returned a year later for another visit. Two years ago, in the first week of December, he brought gifts. He kissed my mother's forehead and said he'll stay this time and try to be a better person than he had been before.

His words enveloped my mother, keeping her like a promise made only to be broken. He did, in fact, break her. More than a couple of times. He kept saying he'll try to be better, but he couldn't seem to get past "trying" instead of actually "being" better.

There was an evident pain that brought into her eyes, "I know he had hurt a piece of you when he damaged a huge part of me, and I'm sorry," she says as she blinks away the tears in her eyes, begging to fall down on her cheek.

"You're sorry?" I say sarcastically, "For what he did? Are you insane, mom? Are you going to keep him hurting you this way by promising you to try and be better? Aren't you tired? Because I am. I am so tired watching the pain that he inflicted that also comes from you, embracing the idea of him breaking his promises."

I bite my bottom lip, preventing it from quivering—the first sign of pain before snowballing into a worse kind of pain.

"I am sorry," Mom says, "I can't unlove your father. I love him so much, and I can't just unlove him."

"You love too much; that's why you let him hurt you so much, too," I say.

My mom's eyes darted into mine, "I never asked for it to happen."

"But you let it happen," I say, "And you continue to let it happen."

Over and over again.

I brushed up against my dad's shoulder as I stepped out of the kitchen. He was leaning against the wall as he stands beside the doorframe of the kitchen. Before going up the stairs and closing the door after entering my room, I give him a disgusted look.

My fists still clenched and my teeth gritting at the thought of my father breathing the same air and sharing the same roof as I was. I took a pillow and hurled it at the window with fury.

When I sat down on the floor, my knees were on the verge of collapsing. I sank to the floor with my whole body. I'd never been so weak before. I'd never felt so many feelings rush into me all at once.

I'm disturbed by a knock at the door. Slowly, the door opens, making a faint creaking sound. When Jonathan sees me, his head pops up, and he pushes the door wide open. I sat down on the bed after pushing myself off the floor.

Jonathan leans on the doorframe, saying, "You hate it when dad hurts mom, but you're hurting her with your words."

My head snaps. I glared at him with my eyebrows drawn together.

"Have you ever listened to mom? Have you ever really asked what she feels about dad and how he keeps leaving her?" Jonathan asks.

I was taken aback by the fact that he didn't raise his voice at me as he usually would when I interjected myself into his business.

I couldn't think of a response to his question because truth be told, I never did. I never asked my mother how she felt about her husband abandoning her for another woman. I've never paid attention to what she has to say. I just listened to her cries because I assumed it was all that mattered, and it was a way of knowing her emotions, and that should be enough. But it appears that I was wrong.

Jonathan left without another word, leaving my door open. I intertwined my fingers as I looked down on the floor. I hear another knock on my door that caught my attention. Hoping to see my mom, I was only left disappointed.

My dad forces a half-smile on his face. Even a half-smile seems so forced and fake.

"What are you still doing here?" I say in a defeated tone of voice, looking away from him. I would rather watch wet paint dry itself than listen to him talk.

"I know you're mad—"

I chuckled at his words bitterly, but he continues to speak, "—and I know you hate me."

"If only there were a word worse than hate, I'd describe you with that," I say as I spare him a glance, "I can't even describe how much I hate seeing you especially knowing that you're trying to get my mom to be fooled by your promise."

There was a few seconds of silence that I never thought I'd ever appreciated before he starts talking again.

"I know that apologizing won't make up for everything that I did, but I am really trying," He says as I chuckled bitterly again at his words.

I look at him, "You can't fool me the way you're fooling, mom. I won't be falling for anything you promise or say to either of us here in this house," I say as he nods his head.

"I know, but I am really trying," He says.

"Trying?" I questioned, "You've been saying that for three years, and I never really seen you put much effort into "trying" to be better," I say, air-quoting the word.

"You have so many chances to be better, but you're always stuck at that phase of trying. You have so many chances, and you blew it. I won't let you stick around and wait for my mom to cry herself to sleep again," I added.

He turns to look at his feet. He was deafeningly quiet and defeated, but it wasn't enough for me to declare victory over my attempts to damage him with the use of words.

"I understand," He says. "I'll leave now."

I wanted to smile, but he continues to speak.

"Just to let you know, I'll be back here tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the day after that, and for several more days to come. I'll keep coming back here to prove to you that I'll keep my word this time around."

He walked out the door as Jonathan did, without saying anything more. I hear his footsteps descending the stairwell, followed by a few mumbling noises, and then the front door closing.