They say ignorance is bliss. And it’s so true. It’s so much easier not to care, not to look, not to remember. The minute I ignore an issue, it’ll go away. For me, at least.

A few weeks ago, I came upon a site my dad had been visiting. On it, he was sending less than tasteful messages to girls half his age. Arranging meetings and such. With a little hesitation, I told my mom. Actually, it was more than a little. I waited two whole days to tell her.

Some people might wonder how it was, having to face him each day, pretending nothing happened. Surprisingly, it was fairly painless. Somehow, not acknowledging the truth made it less real. What I saw was just that: what I saw. Just like something I saw on TV, in a book or in the newspaper. I detached myself from the reality of it all, and I was happy. Frankly, the only thing that made me tell my mom was the disgusting thought of him in her bed. Because all other logic told my to shut my mouth. What I knew could be grounds for divorce.

When I did finally speak, when I did open my mouth, the hazy, gross thing that I saw became a sharp, gritty, tangible fact. The truth felt horrible, as did the consequences.

Yesterday, my mom let him move back in, mainly for financial reasons. It’s a shallow motive, but we do what we have to do.

We’ve gone back to pretending nothing happened. That my dad didn’t cheat, that he didn’t call us w****s and b****es, that he didn’t threaten to “destroy” us all.

It’s easier. So much easier than talking about it, so much more blissful than fighting about it.

And I feel lost. In between truth and happiness.

When everyone around me is forgetting, it keeps getting harder to remember.

Maybe it’s better that way.