There he was, my father, parking with his suitcase in his hand and that usual warm smile. Awkwardly lifting his duffel bag with essential items, he gave me a half-hug saying, “It’s just for three months, you’ll join me soon, all right?”

The entrance screen displayed the time a dozen hours before the flight would take off from Beirut for Turkey. It was one in the afternoon and the sun glared straight into my beady eyes. My father walked up to the metal detecting gate and waved to him from across the pavement. We watched him blend with the others, and my mother muttered a prayer. This would be my father’s first time on a plane, my first time in an airport, my brother’s first-time saying goodbye, and my mother’s first time as a single parent.

We trudged back to our blue Honda. My mother took over the steering wheel, and I remember how deserted the car felt without my father’s presence. The 15-minute ride home was burdened with an awkward dullness. The world dashed past the car window, pausing at the red lights for me to make out the building shapes, then picking up the speed. The three of us didn’t even mention the topic of my father leaving. My brother would interrupt the silence by announcing his hunger, then my mother would suggest getting something on the way.

I wished to know my mother’s thoughts as she browsed the streets for a parking spot. It was around evening when we returned to our 1-bedroom apartment. I took off my shoes and placed them inside the cabinet as if the world wasn’t falling apart. Maybe that’s how we remain sane during dire events.

It was a weird day. When I look back, I think we stayed silent because we were afraid.

My mother would later enter my room with heavy steps. She lingered at the door, only half of her body leaning forward. “Don’t tell anyone,” She would direct. The irony was that I had no one to talk to about the tragedies of my days. To whom would I confide? If even God had turned his back on me, who is there?

Of course, I agreed to all her instructions no matter how bizarre they would be.

The days went on, and soon we would lose contact with my father. After a few weeks of no response, we knew what had awaited us.