The vacation was supposed to be one of those memories you looked back on years later and smiled about. That was what your parents kept saying before the trip started, anyway. Gerard had talked about how nice it would be to get away from everything for a while, Lynz had planned out all the places you were going to visit, and you had actually been excited. As an only child, family trips were usually a big deal because it was just the three of you. There were no siblings to distract you, no one else to make jokes with in the back seat, and no one else who understood exactly what it felt like to be stuck between your parents when things got tense. You thought this vacation would be full of laughs, pictures, and good memories.

Instead, you quickly learned that the hardest part of the trip wasn’t the long drives, the crowded tourist spots, or the endless hours sitting in the car. It was the constant fighting.

The first few days almost fooled you into thinking everything was fine. Gerard would make jokes while driving, Lynz would laugh, and you’d all stop somewhere new and take pictures together. For a few minutes at a time, it felt normal. It felt like the vacation you had imagined. Gerard would act silly to get a reaction out of you, Lynz would roll her eyes but secretly laugh, and you’d think maybe the arguments were finally over.

*But then something small would happen.

It was always something small.*

A wrong turn. A comment taken the wrong way. A disagreement about where to eat. Something that should have lasted thirty seconds would somehow turn into a full argument.

The worst part was the car.

The car was impossible to escape.

You were trapped in the back seat with nowhere to go, forced to listen while the two people you loved most went back and forth. You would put your headphones on sometimes, hoping the music would drown it out, but even then you could still feel the tension filling the car. Sometimes they wouldn’t even realize how loud they were getting. They’d start off calmly, talking about something simple, and then suddenly their voices would rise.

“I’m just saying we should’ve checked the map before leaving,” Lynz said one afternoon as you drove toward another landmark.

Gerard sighed from the driver’s seat. “I know where we’re going.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“It sounds like you’re saying I don’t.”

“I’m literally just saying we could’ve checked.”

“And I’m saying we’re fine.”

You stared out the window, watching the scenery pass by. You tried to focus on anything else—the trees, the buildings, the people walking by—but their voices kept cutting through everything.

“You always do this,” Lynz said.

“Do what?”

“Turn everything into an argument.”

Gerard let out a frustrated laugh. “Me? You’re the one who brought it up.”

And there it was.

The moment where it stopped being about the map.

You hated that you could tell exactly when it happened.