Everything I had in this world could fit into two suitcases. But I only had one.
A small blue carry-on style bag with ropy handles.
Officially, I bought a ticket to visit my New York cousins for the 2010 winter break.
Privately, I gave notice at my job as a kindergarten assistant—and asked my supervisor to keep it in confidence.
Too nervous to sneak the actual card from the manila envelope my dad used to store important documents, I wrote my social security number on the inside of my desk drawer to memorize it. The proof of American citizenship I would need to survive was now imprinted on my mind.
I packed precious memories—mostly photos of my little brothers and carried them to an aunt's house for safekeeping.
I was ready to quietly slip away. And then, a week before I was due to leave forever, I broke down.
I confronted my mom. I was desperate for something I couldn't name. Was it acknowledgment? Remorse? A glimpse of connection?
There would be no quiet slipping away now. I charged my flip phone.
I made her promise she wouldn't tell him. I knew it was hopeless.
I waited, full of dread.
When he came home I was in the room I shared with my 3-year-old brother, a boy I cared for more than anyone in the world. He was playing a computer game. I was waiting.
The man entered our room in a rage, grabbed me, threw me out the door to the hallway floor and said if I wanted to leave I should just go.
The world started spinning. My baby brother cried hysterically. I tried to hug him as our father roared.
I grabbed the luggage, the phone, a trash bag with my dirty laundry and left. I called my aunt from the stairwell asking her to pick me up.
I spent the next few days in a daze, likely concussed, lying on a bed in my aunt's basement.
No one helped me call the police or go to the hospital. Instead, people talked to Rabbis.
I was dazed but the spell was broken. My parents had lost their hold. On that night, with my trauma and tears, I marked a path for my siblings to follow. This was my parting gift to the five boys I loved and raised and was now forced to leave. It was time for me to take care of myself for the first time in my life.
Your writing this paves a path for everyone who has suffered abuse to walk away when the time is right.