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“For as long as I can remember,” I admit.

He swears again. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? This isn’t the life I thought you were leading, Delilah.”

“She’s been like this since not long after you left,” I explain. The house we lived in when Dad was with us was never like this. It was always clean and tidy. I vaguely remember times when we were all happy.

Now he looks distressed and angry. I can’t decide who he’s angry with. Me, for not telling him? Mum, for being like this? Or himself, for not making sure things were better?

“Where have you been staying?” he asks.

“With friends. On and off, for a while. I’ve been staying with Felix this week. We’re supposed to move in together.”

“How on earth are you going to support yourself to move in with Felix? Where are you planning on getting money for rent and food as well as studying?”

“I’m going to get a job instead.”

His lips form a straight, tight line. Clearly not the answer he wanted nor expected.

“Pack your things. Everything, Delilah. I swear to God, you’re not stepping foot back in this house ever again.”

“I don’t know when things will be ready with Felix’s place. They—” I start, but he shakes his head to cut me off.

“You’re coming to stay with me and Verity,” he states. I open my mouth to protest—I don’t want to crash into their lives—and Dad’s expression softens. “At least for now. Please.”

I mull his suggestion over in my head, trying to decide where I’ll feel less like an inconvenience—crashing at Felix’s house until he has his own place, or with Dad and Verity, a woman I’ve barely conversed with. I know Felix loves me, and I know Jennifer and Cain are happy to have me around, but maybe I’ll feel less like a leech if I stay with one of my parents for a while. Just until everything is ready.

“Fine,” I reply.

I hop off the stool and stalk out of the kitchen, trying not to focus on the image of Dad pulling his mobile from his pocket. I’m sure he’ll be phoning Verity while I’m packing, begging for forgiveness about what he’s just offered and how I’ll be disrupting their peace and quiet in their new home.

It’s fine. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s staying out of the way. I can stay at their house, in whatever room they put me in, and I can spend my time in there, out of their way, nursing my broken heart.

***

“Delilah, is that you?”

I wipe my cheeks to get rid of the evidence of my tears. It’s something I’ve become accustomed to doing before I walk back into Dad and Verity’s house for the last couple of weeks. But today feels harder. Who knew that tears of despair and panic would be harder to stop than those caused by pain and heartbreak.

I want to run up the stairs and hide in my bedroom, but I know it’ll be rude to ignore Verity. We may not know each other very well, but she’s been nice to me since Dad brought me into their house. Verity had greeted me with a warm smile and a tentative hug, and she’s been kind every day. The day after I moved in, she went shopping and returned with bags of clothes for me. New tops, new jeans, new sleepwear, new underwear, a winter coat—all brand-new, with tags, just for me. She even got me new shoes, both trainers and boots, as well as sketchpads, pencils, reading books, and little things for my room, things she said would help me feel at home.

She’s nice to me. She always asks what I would like for dinner, makes me a mug of tea when she’s making herself one, and she never lets me help around the house. Whenever I try to tidy up, she tells me to sit down and relax.

I look at my reflection in their hallway mirror, wiping my eyes again. I listen to Verity’s footsteps get closer, no doubt wondering who’s in the house when I haven’t been polite enough to tell her it’s me.

“Hi,” I say as brightly as I can when she steps into the hallway.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asks, clearly not fooled by my big, bright smile and hastily wiped face. She raises her eyebrows at me, waiting for my reply.

The only one I can give is a choked sob. I’ve enough control to quickly kick off my shoes in the hallway before I run up the stairs to the room I’m staying in. Verity hates shoes being worn in the house. She even got me a pair of slippers to wear around the house instead when she did her big shop for me.

I’m crying on the bed when she pushes the door open. I feel the dip of the mattress as she sits next to me.

I want to cry and shout, to tell her to go away and leave me alone. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask how she dares come into my room, but this is her room in her house. I’m an unwelcome guest who has the power to upend her life more than I already have done.

“I’m sorry,” I cry.

“It’s good to let the emotions out, Delilah. I’ve wondered when you’re going to break down properly,” she soothes.

I know she means in front of her, because I’ve been breaking down in private every single day. Today is worse, and I’m not sure how it’s going to get better.