Ironically, the last time I saw Emma was our Independence Day party.
She was missing when the fireworks started, and I found her upstairs, packing.
“Whats up?” I asked.
“I’m leaving until you figure yourself out,” she said. “You’re drunk all the time.”
Rockets boomed and crackled outside, the sky shimmering bright through the blinds.
“We’re missing the fireworks,” I said.
She searched my eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Yes. I am,” she said grabbing her suitcase and crossing the room.
“Wait...Emma?” I said.
She turned around.
“I saw you lift my wallet off the dresser.”