 At what point did Sara's relationship with her father sharply transition?
Divided we stand Sara lets the Lyft park itself in the drive, lets out a sigh, and tweets wish me luck plus some emojis before slipping her phone into a hoody pocket. Curtains twitch, and before she can get her bag out of the back Mom is there, right there next to her, their hands touching on the handle as they compete for control. "It's fine, there was no need. "But you shouldn't be wasting money, not with how much rent you pay and-" Jesus. Not this already. Mom sighs, shoulders falling, looks at Sara directly. She looks old, Sara thinks, watching a resigned tiredness flicker across her face in a way she'd not noticed before. Like she's exhausted by conflict, surrendered to it. They hold each other for a few long seconds, rubbing and squeezing each other as the Lyft silently backs itself out of the driveway. When they part it's Mom's hand that's on the bag's handle. Inside she unwraps herself from scarves and layers, the heat in the house almost a shock after the cold air. Michigan in February. Mom is already halfway up the stairs, bag in tow, headed for her room. "Mom, just leave that and I'll…" "Your father's in the front room," she says, just before she disappears from view. For a few seconds Sara is alone in the hallway, the smell of cooking meat coming from one doorway, the sound of rolling news from another. Braces herself. He doesn't hear her enter - her socked feet silent on the pile carpet floor, his attention lost in the screen that fills most of the wall. She braces herself again. Really." "Ah, no. The war spills out of Fox News, casualty figures scrolling across monochrome drone footage, attack helicopters circling over Caracas apartment blocks, pundits with bronzed skin and immaculate blond hair smiling from four-way split screens. "Not much. Really. An elderly couple ride a tandem bicycle through a park, laughing and smiling in Instagram-perfect sunshine, as a calm, relaxing voice lists the potentially lethal side effects of a diabetes drug. There's a brief second, a fleeting moment, where Sara can bite her lip, let it go. "You might think it's funny little lady, but let me tell you - you remember Kyle and Max, Bill Cooper's boys? "Well let me tell you," He shifts in the recliner, with some obvious pain and effort, to face her.
 When she began high school
 When she remained in New York after graduating from NYU  When she pierced her nose  When she began high school  When she moved to New York