I will reveal that some of what I wrote here is from past-experience.
Allison walked in to see her mother crouched over piles and piles of paperwork and photographs.
"What are you doing?" Allison asked. Of course, she knew what they were for: the divorce. Anything and everything that passed through the hands of her mother were regarding the divorce between her and Allison's father, who had just moved out a few weeks ago. Already, was her mother beginning to handle any remaining memories of the man.
"Oh," Diane said, as if she couldn't care less. "It's just your father's old stuff. It's unbelievable, what a pack-rat he is. I'm not even a quarter of my way through this tiny little closet, and already I've found five empty, folded-up cardboard boxes that he's probably never going to use."
Allison sat down curiously onto the old pink carpet; left from a bad re-modeling job when their had family moved in.
"What would he have had those for?" Allison said. She tried her best not to judge her father, but sometimes it got difficult.
Diane shook her head. "Honestly, I really don't know. Your father was, and probably still is, hard to understand. All I know is: I have a whole lot of recycling to do."
Diane looked up at her daughter, who sat with a vacant expression on her face. Her best attempt at a joke to lighten a dark situation had, once again, failed. She picked up another empty box for a computer keyboard, forgetting to mention she'd found a sixth, and set it down with the rest.
"What are those?" Allison asked. If Diane couldn't get her to smile, at least her daughter would immerse in some conversation.
"These are pieces of work your dad was marking... some are eight, nine years old. His students probably never got any notification on how they did on these things."
Allison closed her eyes. "That's dad."
Her mother nodded along, and continued to empty the closet.
Ever since the night she'd told her daughter of the divorce, Allison had slowly began to change.
First, it was her style of clothing. Then, it was her personality. Now, she was beginning to notice her level of maturity was getting much higher. When Diane was her age, she'd never had to deal with this much. Her family had always been... well, happy. And yet, Diane still hadn't managed to grow up happily herself - especially through her teenage years. Her daughter was sitting across from her, probably feeling like she had so much weighing her down. But she was allowing herself to look through her father's things, without a single breakdown. Diane was utterly amazed.
"What?" Allison asked.
Diane re-focused, and realized she was staring directly at her daughter in admiration. She shook her head.
"Oh... nothing." Diane said, and opened a folder her husband had left.
Inside was blank paper; looking so empty, and uneventful. There were so many options with how she could deal with this paper - she could throw it out, use it to put up errands for the kids, or do something that seemed strangely intriguing... she could write on it.
Diane didn't know how she'd handle it right then, but as she closed the folder back up, she decided she was going to re-write her story - in some shape or form, at least.