During those sleepless nights, another event snuck in its wake. The day my parents finally parted ways.
A few weeks after I turned four was when my father packed his things and left for Alberta. I didn't really know where Calgary was exactly, only that it was very far away. Unlike most children, this didn't really affect me much. It was like my uncle was moving away more than anything. I remember the day he left. There were raised voices, He held the cat carrier with the cat and stormed out, not even acknowledging my wave goodbye and my mother slammed the door after him, probably muttering something along the lines of "good riddance" or something.
It was then we moved into the one bedroom apartment. My father occasionally came back on holidays but there weren't any problems I knew of until I was older.
When I was about six, he returned and there seemed to be nothing but trouble. Constant arguing over which weekends I was with him or at home, financial aspects, and even holidays like Christmas or my immediate following birthday. Nothing at that time seemed to pass without a debate. Nothing.
I remember the constant phonecalls between my parents of them yelling at each other while I sat frozen to the stairs. When I was home, I looked down at my mother in our dismal living room and when I was with him, I'd see him on my grandmother's sofa where he'd been all day. In each situation, I learned fast to just climb back up the stairs and pretend like nothing was happening down there. I'd crawl in some nook and play with my stuffed animals where we'd play out some sort of happy life. Playing some sort of life I wished to see then.