He pulled over immediately and stepped out before the engine stopped humming. He still wore his work uniform, the local utility company logo stitched across his chest, his boots dusty, sleeves rolled up. He always looked like a man in the middle of fixing something.
His eyes dropped to my ankle. Then to Noah. Then to the grocery bag.
“Why are you walking?” he asked. “Where’s your car?”
I tried to shrug.
“His mom took it,” I muttered. “She said since we’re staying in her house, I should be grateful.”
For a second, Dad just stared at me.
“Who took it?” he asked slowly.
“Daniel’s mom. Linda.”
The air shifted.
“The car you’re paying for?” he asked.
“It’s in Daniel’s name,” I admitted quietly. “She says if I’m under her roof, she decides who drives it.”
Dad blinked once. His jaw tightened.
“You’re living under her roof?”
“After Daniel lost his job, we couldn’t keep our apartment. They offered to let us stay… temporarily.”
“And in exchange,” Dad said evenly, “they control you.”
I didn’t respond.
He took the grocery bag from my hand and opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
“Dad, please…” I whispered. I could already hear Linda’s voice in my head. Ungrateful. Dramatic. Difficult.