Rhett
My father walked into the room. His eyes were shining with rage, not just anger, but pure, white-hot fury. I'd seen my father upset before, annoyed even, but I had never, ever seen him like this.
"Get out," he commanded. "Leave now, or I will have security throw you out."
I froze, still sitting in the chair, while my mother slowly stood with a dignity that surprised me, given the circumstances. She didn't flinch or cower. Instead, she brushed the tears from her cheeks, squared her shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye.
"Don't be silly, Terry," she said calmly. "I'll leave. I have no intention of staying. I only came to save my son."
Her eyes slid past my father to the empty hallway behind him. A small, knowing smile crossed her face.
"I'm surprised your little master isn't towing behind you," she remarked casually.
I knew instantly who she was talking about. It was Clara, my stepmother—the woman who'd replaced her.
