But I never said anything. I couldn’t. I knew how much my parents sacrificed and I didn’t want to add to their burdens.
And now, all of it, every single thing I endured, wasn’t for me. It was for him. Scott. The boy they adopted. The one they were building everything for.
I wanted to scream, but all I could do was hold the milk bottle in my hand so tight I thought it might shatter.
After a moment, I forced myself to move. My fingers fumbled with the door handle, but I finally opened it and stepped inside.
Mom rushed over as soon as she saw me. Her apron was so patched up it was impossible to tell what it used to look like. She wiped her hands on it and gave me that worried look she always did. “Savannah, why didn’t you call? Your dad could’ve picked you up! You shouldn’t be walking around alone, you know how hard that is for you. I’ve been worried sick!”
Her words made my chest ache, but this time it wasn’t from comfort.
Dad was on the couch. He gave me a guilty smile, his hand moving quickly to stub out the cigarette he was holding. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.
“Oh, you’re back,” he said, like everything was perfectly normal.