I was born and raised in Staunton, Virginia, a small town where constant contact with nature has always been part of my routine. I live on my maternal grandparents' farm with my mother. My grandfather takes care of the land and the animals, and I always help him with the daily chores. Horseback riding is one of my greatest passions. Life in the countryside, with the smell of wet earth and the sound of animals at dawn, is all I know and love.
My life started to change about a year ago when my mother remarried. Gradually, our routine began to shift. It was no longer just the four of us: my grandparents, my mother, and me. Then, two months ago, I noticed that my mother seemed more thoughtful than usual.
"Mom, are you okay?" I asked, worried.
She hesitated for a moment, then called me to talk. That's when she told me that her husband had received a job offer in France and that we would probably have to move there for a while.
I felt a tightness in my chest. I had never left the farm for very long. Leaving my home, my grandparents, my horse… it was an impossible idea to accept. While my mother spoke, I watched her hands nervously intertwine. Then came the final blow:
"Sweetheart, your father doesn't want to allow you to go with us."
Silence hung heavily between us.
I held her hand, trying to show that everything was okay."Mom, it's okay. I'll stay with the grandparents."
She sighed deeply before continuing, her voice heavy with sadness:"My love, your father was firm. In my absence, you'll live with him."
Confusion took over me. Although my father had always been present, he had never shown interest in me living with him. Yet, at the same time, I knew he had that right. When my parents divorced, I was nine years old, and he never fought for custody. Now, however, he was the only option a judge would consider.
My mother looked at me with concern."Sweetheart, I'm thinking of staying for you."
At that moment, I realized that, for the first time, it was my turn to give up something for her.
I took a deep breath, and even with my heart heavy, I decided:"Mom, I want to live with Dad. It will be good to spend this time with him."
She looked at me silently for a few seconds. Then, a tear welled up in her eyes before she pulled me into a tight hug. We stayed there, chest to chest, and I felt her heart beating so strongly. We stayed like that for a long time.
A week later, my move to Florida became real. Every farewell seemed to tear a piece of me away: my grandparents, my horse, my dogs, my friends, my school… sixteen years of life left behind.
At Shenandoah Valley Airport, my mother and grandparents accompanied me to the departure gate. I felt numb, as if I were on autopilot. Every five steps, I looked back. There they were, crying. My neutral façade failed, and a tear slipped out. I quickly wiped it away and moved forward. During the flight, I ended up falling asleep.
When I arrived at the Florida airport, my father was waiting for me, smiling widely. I gave him a cold hug. He looked radiant, but I just couldn't reciprocate his excitement. I had never been to his house before, and the uncertainty made me uneasy. For nine years, he had been the one visiting me, at least once a month.
In the car, silence prevailed. I watched the landscape through the windows: busy streets, smoke, many cars, people everywhere. Everything suffocated me. I missed the green fields and the peace of the farm.
When we arrived at my father's house, I was surprised. It was beautiful from the outside, large, with a pool and a pristine garden.
"Sweetheart, I'll show you your room!" he said excitedly.
I followed him, but as I walked through the house, a growing discomfort filled me. Everything was so modern, so impersonal. The bright white lights reminded me of a hospital. White dominated every corner, and everything seemed untouched, too orderly. In the living room, there was a huge TV and a corner sofa so large it seemed never to have been used.
When I entered my room, it felt like a dollhouse. Everything was too pink. My eyes began to hurt.
"Darling, if something isn't to your liking, we can change it. The house is yours too; I want it to reflect you," my father said, hopeful.
While he spoke, my attention went to the large glass window. At least I liked that. I approached and looked at the pool and the surrounding houses, all as large as my father's house. Outside, people walked along the streets of the neighborhood, but something bothered me.
"Where are the horses? The bicycles? The boots? The hats? None of this makes sense to me."
Will I ever get used to this place?