Tonight, I found myself walking home through the rain-soaked streets of Manchester, my mind swirling with memories and anger. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm raging inside me, as I replayed the bitter argument with my brother that had torn our family apart. I never imagined hatred could run so deep, or that it could leave me feeling so utterly alone.
The night sky raged again, thunder shaking the windows as Mum and I huddled in the bathroom, wrapped in blankets and fear. Every storm brings back memories of the night Dad left, and now, as I wander unfamiliar streets in Sheffield, I wonder if I’ll ever find my way home—both to a place and to myself. The city’s rain-soaked pavements echo with my doubts, and I can’t help but question if I’m strong enough to face what’s waiting for me at the end of this walk.
