I regretted coming home as soon as I walked in the door; shouts could be heard from the next room, and I could only guess what my parents were fighting about this time. Not wanting to get involved, I called a simple, "I'm home!" before heading for the stairs leading up to my room.

When they heard my voice, the yelling ceased momentarily, then escalated. "You forgot to pick her up?!" My mother's harsh, angry voice hissed, followed by a sharp retort from my father.

"It was your turn! You never remember to go get her!"

I retreated up the stairs and took refuge in my room before I could hear anymore. Slamming my door behind me in frustration, I flopped down on my bed with a huge sigh. I wanted to cry. I would've cried. But I felt as if I'd used up all my tears earlier, at the school. Lying down on my bed, I curled myself into a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes.

I hated the way they constantly fought—hated the way it was always about me. They would always say how much of a burden I was, how much of a hassle it was for them to take care of me. I wondered why they'd even decided to have a child in the first place, if they wanted nothing to do with her.

I reminded myself that we had been happy, once. I tried to tell myself that it was because of the kidnapping that the happiness had been destroyed. But it was difficult not to be angry at my parents—why had they abandoned me in the time that I'd really needed them? Why, instead of fighting, hadn't they worked as a team the way parents should to make everything better? Wasn't it their job to comfort their child, and to tell her that everything would be okay?

These were questions that I asked myself every day—every single time they fought, I would lie on my bed and become consumed by my own thoughts. Sometimes hours would pass and I would not move, letting the questions pass through my mind, one by one, each without an answer.

Sometimes I would finally sit up, only to find that the quilt upon my bed was soaked with the tears I had been unaware of shedding. Other times, I would open my eyes and find that the night had passed without me knowing, and then I wondered if I had fallen asleep, or simply lay there, suffering in silence until morning.

The shouted strings of profanities had ceased, though I knew that the argument was still raging downstairs; I was just too caught up in my confusion and misery to listen. When this happened, I blocked everything out; I couldn't hear, my body was numb, I didn't feel the need to eat or use the restroom. All I did was think.

This time was no different; though my body was useless and limp, my mind was racing. Another question would interrupt my contemplation of the one before it, then be gone before I could try to find the answer to it. In this state, time meant nothing. Hours could have passed, or only a few moments; maybe only a second had gone by, but I couldn't tell how long would elapse before the questions finally stopped.

I didn't want to move, fearing that I would break the trance I had put myself in. The silence, though I knew it wasn't real, was peaceful. I didn't have to listen to the anger-filled shouts from downstairs, and I could think without any interruption. Though my eyes remained closed, I knew that I wouldn't fall asleep.

What if I were a bird? The question was unexpected, though it had come from my own mind. Would I fly away? This was a question that I knew the answer to: yes, if I were a bird, I would fly away. I would leave all the pain behind and start over. I would get as far away from this place as possible; away from the anger, the sadness, and the constant confusion. I would forget all my troubles and be free.

But would I really be happy? This one confused me; of course I would be happy—I would be able to forget all about my old life. If I didn't have to suffer anymore, why wouldn't I be happy?

I wouldn't really forget, I thought, I'd just be shutting it out. I wouldn't know where to go, or what to do. If I left my life behind, I wouldn't know how to start over. Even if I abandoned what my life is like now, the pain and the misery would never truly go away. And I would be lonely. I knew that this was true—I wouldn't be able to forget the suffering I'd endured for so long. And right now, even if I didn't have my parents, I had my friends. They would be with me, even if no one else was.

For so long, all I'd wanted was to get away. I'd been so consumed by the anger and sadness that all I could think of was escaping to somewhere where there was no pain. I knew that such a place did not exist—every person's life has rough patches, though some have it worse than others. The sadness was what made us cherish the better things that we had. For me, the good things in life were my friends—and I'd been thinking about leaving them behind.

If I were a bird, would I fly away? If I ran away from my problems, I would never really know if, in the end, they were resolved. What if the fighting eventually stopped? What if my parents leaned to get along again? If I took the easy way out, I would never know if it was possible for us to be a happy family again.

I finally understood something that I'd never been able to realize before. Somehow, a strange question had led to an epiphany, which didn't often happen. If I were a bird... I thought to myself, my eyes still closed. I would stay in my nest.

I opened my eyes, and with my sight came the angry sound of shouts and swears. But it didn't seem as important to me now—I knew that things wouldn't get better instantly, but I was able to hope that with enough effort, they could go back to the way they used to be.

Sitting up, I opened my schoolbag and found my homework—even after my realization, there was no way that I was going to go downstairs and risk stepping into the warzone. So I decided that the best way to pass the time would be to get the homework out of the way; it was almost completely dark outside now, and the moon was starting to come up.

By the time I had finished the worksheets and stuffed them back into my bag, the stars were twinkling brightly outside my window, and a pale half-moon hung in the sky. Even though an hour or so had gone by, the racket in the living room hadn't diminished at all. My stomach growled, and I decided that I would attempt to get to the kitchen to find something to snack on.

Padding lightly down the stairs, I flinched—the yelling hadn't been so loud through my bedroom door, but down here, with nothing to muffle the sound, it was much, much worse. I snuck quickly past the entrance to the living room, but I knew that there was no real reason to be cautious; a freight train or a tornado could've passed through the living room without my parents noticing.

Reaching my destination, I searched through the refrigerator for something to eat. There wasn't much to choose from, and in the end I ended up making myself some instant ramen as I had done countless times before when mother was too busy yelling to cook dinner. For someone the size of a second grader, I had a big appetite. I ended up polishing off two cups of instant ramen before heading back upstairs, dodging past the warzone that was our living room.

Now that I had eaten, I was a little sleepy. Glancing at the clock on my desk, I found that it was nearly ten o'clock. Shuffling over to a small chest of drawers, I found a light, cream-colored nightgown with ruffles around the bottom. Feeling a little paranoid, I walked over to the window and pulled the curtain closed, even though my room was on the second floor.

I took off my school uniform and donned the nightgown, then proceeded to fold my uniform neatly before setting it at the foot of my bed. Grabbing a hairbrush, I set to work on the impossible task of getting the tangles out of my chaotic mess of blonde curls.

While attempting to yank the brush through my hair, I remembered what Nagihiko had said before he'd left. I was still confused about the whole thing—what had he meant when he'd said, "we'll talk tonight?" At first, I'd figured that he meant that he'd call me. But he didn't have my phone number, unless Amu had given it to him without me knowing, which was unlikely.

Even if he did have my phone number, I doubted that he'd bother calling at ten-thirty at night. So now I hadn't the slightest clue what he'd meant, and just thinking about it made my head hurt—Nagihiko just didn't make sense.

At last, I was able to finish combing out my hair, and I wondered idly how much of it I'd managed to pull out in the process. Not giving it any more thought, I left my room and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

By the time I was ready for bed, it was eleven. I pulled back the covers and got into bed, exhausted from the day's events. Resting my head against the soft, warm pillow, I closed my eyes, knowing that it wouldn't take very long to fall asleep. However, a sudden sound made me open them again. I sat up, wondering where the soft tap had come from.

I looked around my room, and everything was silent. I shrugged and laid back down, figuring it was just my imagination, running wild from lack of sleep. Tap. I sat up again, and this time I was scared. I had been able to pinpoint that the sound was coming from my window, and I wondered what could possibly be hitting it, since it was on the second floor. Tap. I was frightened—not of monsters, as I was no child. But for a girl who was nearly kidnapped, someone tapping on your second-story window can be more than a little scary.

I wanted to leave the room, to go get one of my parents. But they were both still fighting downstairs, and I was more scared of them than I was of what was outside. So I summoned all the courage in my tiny body and got out of bed, approaching the window cautiously.

I gripped the edge of the curtain in my fist. Tap. Another impact against the glass made me flinch, and before I could lose my nerve, I jerked the curtain back and stared at the window. Nothing. Only the black night, the shining stars, and the luminous moon shining its pale light on my confused face. I didn't replace the curtain. Instead, I waited, staring out into the darkness.

Tap! A small stone bounced off my window and fell back to the ground. I looked down, but I couldn't see too clearly in the darkness. However, I was able to make out a familiar silhouette standing underneath my window. The silhouette had long hair.