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“Is Dad home?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
She shrugs.
We both leave the kitchen, our snack forgotten, and walk up the stairs, following the source of the noise. It sounds like two people are talking now. One voice is definitely my father’s, but I didn’t remember seeing his car when I got home.
I approach the office. The door is ajar, and I can hear his conversation.
“You’re being unreasonable,” my father says. “You haven’t given me enough time.”
“But I love you,” a woman’s voice responds. My blood turns to ice in my veins. “I’m ready for us to move on and start our lives together.” I toe open the door to see a woman sitting on my father’s desk. Her legs are wide, allowing my father to stand between them. Her clothes are in disarray—one strap on her dress hanging from her left shoulder, the top barely covering her full breasts. Her black bra is on the floor next to the trash can. Both of them have mussed, just-fucked hair.
My stomach bottoms out, reacting like I’m riding some sort of fucked-up roller coaster, and I hear the woman’s gasp when her eyes meet mine over my father’s shoulder.
My father whirls around. His face pales and he steps away from the woman as if distance will absolve him of guilt.
I turn in panic when I hear my mom’s breath hitch. I’m not sure what I expect to see on her face—tears, shock, betrayal, rage, some sort of violent emotional response. But the light in her gray-blue eyes dims and fades to nothing. It’s just blank, like she died.
“Allie, Link…,” my father stammers.
The shock coursing through my body starts running hot. Rage floods my system, clogging my throat, choking every rational thought from my brain.
The woman jumps from the desk, scrambling to rearrange her dress and grab her bra. She just stands there cowering in the corner like a caged animal when she realizes the only way out is through us.
I turn my gaze on her. “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” I growl, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
She nods sadly and pushes her way through the doorway, shrinking away so as not to touch me when she passes and disappears down the hall.
I turn to my father. “What the fuck, Dad?” I scream, hating that my voice cracks.
He just stares at me, his eyes wide. “Link, you’re too young to understand,” he starts, raising his hands as if to soothe some sort of beast.
And that’s what it feels like—I want to tear him limb from limb. How dare he break this family?
“The fuck I am,” I say, gritting my teeth so hard it feels like my molars might crack. “How could you do this? To Mom? To me and Trey?”
I want to hit something.
I’ve never felt this out of control, this helpless, this raw. It’s suffocating me. I clench my shaking fist, the urge to punch my father overwhelmingly strong.
“Lincoln,” my mom says quietly, her hand landing on my forearm before I can throw the hit. “Go to your room. I can handle this.”
I jerk away from her and stare, my eyes bouncing between them.
Her expression is cold and calculating. It sends chills rippling through my body. She doesn’t look like my mother.
“How are you so fucking calm? Aren’t you angry or hurt? You can’t send me to my room like a goddamn child.”
“Go, Lincoln. Now. This isn’t about you.” Her tone is firm, leaving no room for argument.
“Fuck this.” I storm into the hallway.
But I don’t go to my room. Instead, I walk to my car in the garage. I open the door, slamming it angrily. Then, because I’m sitting there all alone, I break.
I slam my hands against the steering wheel over and over, screams shredding my throat like broken glass.
My cheeks are wet.
I let everything I’m feeling consume me, all the hurt and anguish my father’s betrayal has caused seeping out of every pore in my body, filling the car, fogging the windows until I can barely breathe.
