When Edgar pointed a finger in his face and called him a thief, he hadn't gotten angry.
But them wronging me? That, he couldn't take.
He was always like this. I was the one line no one was allowed to cross.
Guilt and grief knotted together in my chest as I reached out and held his hand.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I made you worry again."
He stroked my head the way he used to when I was small, and gently wiped my tears with a napkin.
"You're my daughter. No matter how much I do for you, it's never too much."
Warmth flooded through me. I pulled out my phone right there and called my friend who practiced divorce law.
Once the divorce agreement was finalized, Dad and I headed home.
On the way, I contacted a moving company.
I was done waiting. Not one more second.
At the front door, seven or eight extra pairs of shoes were lined up on the mat.
My heart sank all over again.
Edgar had broken his promise.
Through the gap in the door, a thick wall of cigarette smoke drifted out, so acrid it stung my eyes to tears.
Dread pooled low in my stomach.
I pushed the door open and realized I had still underestimated Georgette's shamelessness.
I'd told her no card-playing friends. So she'd invited her relatives instead.