I felt his hand on my shoulder and I knew this was it.
I knew it was time for me to leave.
I knew there was no longer a place for me here.
His hand, upon my shoulder, was the last fatherly touch I would ever feel.
I was no longer welcome in their house.
This was it.
I had to leave.
I didn’t feel sorry.
My father was there to comfort me with his touch.
My mother was nowhere to be seen.
I could see a tear in my father’s eye, one he quickly wiped away, and I knew he didn’t want this.
He didn’t want me to leave.
He didn’t want to be left without a son.
But I had disgraced my mother and he had to kick me out.
It was me or her.
And he was always going to choose her.
I knew, when he lifted his hand from my shoulder, that it was time.
Time for me to leave.
Never to come back.
Never to see my family again.
Never to see the town I had called home, ever again.
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