I was 9 years old. I remember the drive back, it was long. I can’t really remember if we stopped for the night at a hotel, or if he drove the 19 hours straight through. I’m not sure if I slept, or when we stopped to eat, or what our conversations were,, But for some reason, I do vividly recall the tall concrete median that divided the interstates somewhere along Maryland or maybe even Pennsylvania. There were bicycles strapped on top of a vehicle at one point in passing, and because of the barriers, all we could see were the bikes, rolling along in what seemed to be an invisible track. I remember him pointing and saying “look, flying bicycles!” My 9 year old heart began to pound and I could feel my cheeks transforming into a grin, as I covered my mouth with my tiny hands and tried to stifle the laughter. But it spilled out between my fingers and I giggled with so much joy at such a silly thing. I watched his eyes twinkle as he laughed heartily at either his own joke or my appreciation of it. Little did I know, that twinkle wouldn’t last.. Little did I know, he was taking me back to a place I hated. Little did I know that he was silently shattering into a million pieces taking me back to that little town in the countryside.. A place I felt incomplete, broken, alone, sad, never good enough.. And for the next 20 years, I would live with an emptiness that would consume almost every aspect of my life… That man was my biological father. And that was the winter we left New York, and I was separated from the man who’s world revolved around me.. 19 hours later, my life would change forever.. I am “Scarlett”, and these are my letters.