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“I…” I met his eyes. His face was pinched in anger and agony, and I knew it had nothing to do with his hand. “I don’t know.” My shoulders slumped. “After Mom and Dad died…I just...I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t even know his real name and he’d caused us so much pain and I—I wanted to know what became of him, I guess.”

Ty shook his head. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know.”

He glanced down at the paper again, at the eyes that had haunted him all the years of his childhood and probably still did. He looked away, clenching his jaw, and closed his eyes.

It felt like I was being stabbed in the heart.

“I’m sorry, Ty,” I said, quietly.

He didn’t look at me. Instead, he turned and crumpled the paper into a tight ball, letting it fall to the ground. “I’m going to stay on the houseboat for a while,” he said, his voice not sounding like his own. It sounded defeated. Lifeless. And then he walked toward the hallway, and through the garage door, slamming it shut behind him.

Leaving me behind him.

I stood rooted to the spot, but Ty didn’t come back. I didn’t expect him to. I stared at the crumpled ball of paper. I narrowed my eyes at it. He was still wrecking our lives so many years later. My own anger bloomed in my chest. It was easier to direct it toward my father, and not my own stupidity and selfishness.

I stomped over, picking up the wadded ball and smoothing it out. I typed the address and name of the care facility he was last known to be at into my phone. It was in Mississippi, an over three-hour drive one way. But it was still early, and I had the day off.

I threw the stupid piece of paper in the trash where it belonged and went to my room to change. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I saw my father for the first time in almost twenty years, but I wanted to look him in the eyes when he realized I had found him. And I was going to make him answer for the things he had done to us.

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