My dad had a second family living in our basement when I was a kid.

I thought everyone had a second family in their basement when I was a kid. Now that I think about it, that sounds really silly... but I had only ever known that.

It was a habit for my dad to cover the dinner scraps with foil, leave the room, and take the plate to the basement every night. From my room, I'd hold my breath and listen as he stumbled down the creaky stairs. I could barely make out his greetings.

He would always go downstairs in the morning to say goodbye to his second family before work. As he left, he would kiss me on the top of the head and pat my hair.

Every Christmas, I knew he'd come downstairs in a Santa suit with a bag full of wrapped gifts.

Being so used to it, I thought everyone else knew that my dad had a second family in the basement.

I will always remember the first time I asked my mum about them. "Mommy, why can't I play with the people in the basement?" I finally asked when I was about five years old.

My mum was a living example of frantic energy; she was a biological perpetual motion machine. Every time you walk, clean, or stir a pot. She always had a lit cigarette between her skin-colored fingers.

I'll never forget the first time she stopped talking because of that question. I don't know how to explain how disturbing it was that she was so still.