He didn’t slap me this time. Instead, he snatched my suitcase from my hand with a violent tug. Then, as if tossing out the trash, he hurled it with all his strength through the open manor door. The suitcase hit the cement ground outside with a dull thud.
The latch popped open, and a few of my old, worn clothes fell down the steps.
“Get out! Get out of my sight right now!” He was panting heavily, his chest heaving as he pointed toward the gate.
“I don’t have a son like you!”
Leroy raised his phone to take pictures, his face glowing with amusement, like he was watching the best show of his life.
Linda gently rubbed my father’s back, pretending to comfort him.
“Calm down, Wayne, don’t let anger gets you. It’s bad for your health and it’s not worth it,” she said in sugary tone. “He’s young and impulsive—doesn’t know the world better. We can always make him learn later…”
But I noticed the smug look in her eyes.