She's leaving us.
That's the only thing I can think as I watch my mother get into the cab. I'm frightened that without her here, Mycroft won't be able to protect me from Father's disappointed rages. I feel something on my face—a tear, hot and salty. Mycroft's hand is on my shoulder. He's scared too. We realize it's our fault. We made the mistake of telling her about Father and Aunt Gina. We brought it up. Now she's leaving and it's because of us. If we hadn't said anything, she wouldn't be in the cab that's pulling away.
I whimper slightly. Of all the things in the world, this is what scares me most. Losing someone. Losing Mother. Ever since I'd heard of divorce I've been terrified that it would happen to our family. Now there was a real possibility that it was going to. But then I realize who's really to blame.
"It's your fault," I say levelly. Father looks up. He's been crying, too, though I haven't heard him. "If you hadn't been with Aunt Gina, this would never have happened." My fists ball up. "If you hadn't been greedy like the selfish git I thought you were better than, Mother would still be here." I've touched a nerve. Out of nowhere, he hits me—hard—and it knocks me down.
Mycroft, ever the diplomat, comes over. He gets between father and I and glares at him as if to say "how dare you hit a child." But the physical sting pales in comparison to what I'm feeling. Mother's gone. I'll never see her again.