Realization

I bring my things over in totes, hampers, bags. I just throw stuff in my car and leave. Piles, piles, piles are everywhere. What was once a floor is my own personal war zone. I don't think he was ready for this. But was I? What will they think? What will they do? Wait, who care about them. What about me? The realization I am no longer a child, I'm growing up. Into someone I'm afraid of. Someone I'm not sure I'm ready to embrace. If I turn in the keys it's final. It's done. If this new thing crashes and burns then what am I to do? I just grin and bear it as we round the corner.