My heart wouldn't stop racing as I pulled into the garage.
It's just Mom and Dad, I kept telling myself. Just my parents.
But my palms wouldn't stop trembling on the steering wheel.
Truth was, it wasn't just them. With Dad around, things always got complicated. The kind of complicated that left scars. The kind of complicated where every word felt like a test.
I'd told Ash once that my dad was "complicated."
That was putting it nicely.
What I didn't say was that he was a bigoted, money-obsessed control freak who'd rather buy another skyscraper than show up for his kids.
I stepped inside, and instantly felt the shift. Staff rushing around, polishing things that were already clean, walking fast and fidgeting.
That only happened when my father was home. Fear, wrapped up in productivity.
I hit the living room, and there she was…my mom. Same perfect makeup, same bright perfume. Her face lit up like I was still ten years old.
"Oh, my baby!" she squealed, opening her arms wide.
