Having your own space, somewhere to go when you just want to calm down and relax without being bothered, can be one of the most comforting things after a long day. Coming home to a clean room after school was the part of the day I most looked forward to all throughout middle school. I could relax and find ways to get out of my own mind about what was weighing me down. Finding my room in a destructed state, trash everywhere, and dirt on the walls when I expected it to be the same clean room the way I had left it every other day was one of the most shocking sights I had ever seen at my house.

Going to my dad’s house was never my idea of fun, but I didn’t mind it. It may have been boring, but it was better than doing nothing. As long as I could relax without being yelled at, I was happy enough. At this time, it was me and three of my siblings living at home along with my dad and stepmom, but we only had three bedrooms. This meant that my two older step brothers had to share our family room downstairs. It wasn’t exactly private, but they had a fair amount of space.

My mom was driving us to our dad’s house that day, and we were complaining about not having anything to do. She didn’t care since there was nothing she could do about it; we had to split time between the houses. As she dropped us off, we asked her to take us back, but she continued to drive away. Nobody was home, so at least we had the house to ourselves for a while. We walked in and looked to see if we had any chores to do, and went upstairs to our rooms. When my brother walked into his, he just shut his door gently and laid down on his bed as usual. My door, however, was slammed shut in a way that could be heard throughout the whole house after seeing what had happened to my room.

My bed was unmade and all the pillows were chaotically thrown around the room. There were dirty dishes on my dresser and my bed. Clothes were scattered all over the floor and desk. There was dirt all over my walls and door. Nothing was how it was supposed to be. My heart dropped to the bottom of my chest. My mind was racing trying to figure out how this had happened. I wanted to run downstairs and ask my parents what happened, but knew that nobody was home. While I waited, I thought to myself about how this could have happened, and realized that it must have been my stepbrothers.

I bolted downstairs when I realized they were home, ready to ask them what they knew about it and to yell at my brothers, but they had displeased looks that seemed to be aimed at me. I questioned them about what happened, but all they said was, “You tell me.” I told them that my room was like that when I arrived, and I was irritated that I had to be welcomed to my room like that. They didn’t even try to listen. They told me I was going to be punished and asked me what had happened, and when I said I had no idea they just rolled their eyes. They wanted me to give

them my phone and told me I was not going to be able to use it or do anything I wanted while I was there. Hearing that was one of the most shocking moments of my life.

Knowing that my stepbrothers never got punished or yelled at for what they did changed my view on everyone in that house. They had always gotten slightly better treatment than my brother and I had , but that moment showed me what our family was really like. Going to my dad’s house ever since then has felt draining, and now I feel like I am walking on eggshells trying not to make mistakes when I am there. I've never been exactly close with my stepbrothers, but now when they are home, I don’t like to talk to them. They changed the experience of going to my dad’s from something I didn’t really mind doing into something that I dread almost every week, and I will never forgive them for that.