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.”

She bolted.