I was ten when my life split in two.

One minute, I was unpacking my school bag at home, and the next, my parents were rushing me into the car with a suitcase, promising we were going to visit Gran for a little while.

“You love it at Gran’s, don’t you, Melody?” my mother asked, tying my hair into a long ponytail.

I nodded.

I thought it was a fun adventure. I didn’t realize “a little while” would mean forever.

It started when my younger sister, Chloe, was five. She’d been doing gymnastics at the local rec center, and her coach swore that she was a natural.

“She could go all the way,” he said. “I mean, seriously. I’m talking about competitions and the works!”

My parents latched onto those words like a life raft. Chloe wasn’t just a little girl twirling in leotards anymore. Suddenly, she was their golden ticket to life.

Everything became about Chloe. Her training, her competitions, her future. They said uprooting the family would be worth it if she could become an Olympic champion of something.

But…

They just didn’t want me tagging along.

At first, they framed it as something noble.

“You’re older, Melody,” they told me.

I remember how my mother beamed at me, as though doing this would be the most important thing in my life. As if I was saving them or doing something so meaningful for our family.