Chapter 5: The Great Escape

Suppressing my anger, I didn’t confront them.

It took every ounce of willpower not to storm into their room and scream. Instead, I swallowed my rage and made a plan.

I quickly rented an apartment in the next state, hurriedly packed up all my important things, and stuffed them into my suitcase.

I stayed up late searching Craigslist, found a tiny studio in Indiana, and booked it. I packed only what mattered—my laptop, passport, a box of old photos.

"Dad, Mom, a former coworker from the electronics plant helped me find a job. They want me to start in a couple of days."

I stood in the doorway, suitcase at my side, acting like this was all good news. My heart hammered, terrified they’d see through my lie.

“How’s the pay? If it’s not much, just stay home. It’s not like we can’t feed you,” Mom said, arms folded, tapping her foot, eyeing my suitcase like it was filled with gold.

"Don’t worry, Mom. Same as before, base pay is $2,500. If I do well, I can make $4,000 a month."

Her eyes lit up at the numbers. I knew what was coming next.

“Do they provide food and a place to stay?”

“Both are included.”

“That’s great. Then you keep $50, send the rest home. We’re running low on money, your brother’s school expenses are high. As the older brother, you have to help him.”

She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, sniffing loudly. It was always about Caleb—never about me.

My mom’s tears fell instantly. She wiped her eyes, sneaking glances at me, waiting for my answer.

I bit my lip, pretending to consider it, when all I wanted was to run.

“Why does he need $50? They provide food and a place to stay. Back in our day, ten bucks a month was enough to eat well,” Dad snapped, slapping the table like he was passing judgment.

He leaned forward, voice rising, as if daring me to argue. The memory of old grocery bills danced in his head, never mind inflation or reality.

“Don’t get too comfortable. Think about the family. Your mom and I were both the oldest, we worked hard to raise our siblings. Look how tight-knit our family is—who isn’t jealous? You, keep $10 a month. That’s enough.”

He said it with finality, like a judge handing down a sentence. Ten bucks wouldn’t even buy me a pizza.

I was drinking water and nearly spat it out from the shock of Dad’s shamelessness.

The cold water burned as I coughed, struggling not to laugh. I wondered if he really believed his own nonsense.

Coughing, I thought: ten bucks a month? Even a single trip to the grocery store for fruit costs more than that.

I looked at my parents, their faces locked in expectation. Did they really think I could survive on less than a kid’s allowance?

How could he say that with a straight face?

The audacity was breathtaking. I almost admired it.

Can prices from their time compare to now?

They lived in a world where a nickel bought a candy bar. Meanwhile, I was budgeting for rent, groceries, and WiFi.

They were used to being kings at home, never knowing the hardships of the outside world.

They’d never punched a timecard, never worried about being fired. For them, family meant loyalty—loyalty to their needs, not mine.

Looking at Dad’s fierce face, he was like a demon from hell, grabbing my ankles, trying to drag me into the abyss.

The nightmares came back—his shadowy figure reaching for me, pulling me down as I tried to claw my way out.

So many nights, I’d wake up crying from nightmares.

I’d jolt awake, sheets soaked in sweat, gasping for air.

Why do other people’s parents act like parents, but mine are monsters, wolves in human skin?

There’s no answer. I’m tired. I don’t want to think about it anymore.

The questions circled my head, but I shoved them down. Survival meant moving forward, not looking back.

I just want to escape from them as soon as possible.

My only plan now: get away, and never look back.