Gremma was the one to zip up the backpack and haul it over her shoulder. “Anything else?” she asked.
Dee shook her head. Together, they walked down the stairs—and right into Mr. Moreno.
He froze in astonishment; apparently, he had not heard them come in. Dee’s stomach shriveled up, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.
“What are you—” he began to say, but Dee forged ahead with her plan. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dropped it in his palm. A moment later, her house keys joined it.
“No more,” she said. She meant to say the words firmly, but they came out thin.
Comprehension dawned across his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw and his fist clenched. “Deirdre—”
“Don’t,” said Dee. “Just—don’t.”
She knew all the things he would say.
Family does not abandon family; no one will ever want you besides us; if you leave you are a bad daughter; you are the worst daughter; you should—
Her mother came out of the kitchen, her thin fingers wound in an anxious knot. “Dee?”
Dee looked down. This was the hardest part. Jumping off a sinking ship to save oneself was one thing, but abandoning others in the jump…
It was self-preservation.
And she might feel horrible about it, it might give her nightmares and anxiety and she might spend years crying about it, but the thing was—she would have those years.
That was the beauty of saving her own life.
“I’m your father,” Mr. Moreno started to stay, but again, she cut him off.
“You’re an addict. You could have been my father. But you could never be both, not at the same time.” She looked up at him, and suddenly her throat was too full. “If you ever want to change that… well. You know where I am.”
She turned to her mother. “You too,” she said simply. That was the only gift she could offer—simple words.
A quiver ran through Mr. Moreno’s whole body. He shifted on his feet, reached for Dee. She stepped back.
He stepped forward. She could see the energy coiling in his muscles, the fury kindling to life behind his eyes.
Fear beat hard within her. She needed to leave, to escape, but he wouldn’t let her run.
And that was when Gremma reached into her overly large purse and withdrew a fire ax. She hefted it over her shoulder. In her red leather jacket, she might have been Little Red Riding Hood—a Red who carried an ax and wore wolf pelts as accessories.
“All right,” said Gremma. “We’re leaving now.” She beamed at Mr. Moreno, her pretty smile sharp as a blade.
Dee loved her roommate in that moment. For her fearlessness, for not asking questions, for being here.
Dee turned back to her parents.
And she said the words that both freed and shattered her in the same breath.
“Bye, Mom,” said Dee. “Bye, Dad.”
She walked out the front door and didn’t look back.
She cried.
When Gremma went to the dining hall for lunch Dee retreated to the safety of her bed.
She curled up with her pillow and began to shake. It was inevitable; she felt the sorrow climb up her throat until it was impossible to hold in. It began with a small, tiny sob, and then the rest broke free. It was almost a release, this howl of grief that clawed inside of her. She had never truly given it voice before.
