My Family Toasted

I almost ignored it.

But something in me was tired of letting other people decide which conversations I was strong enough to have.

I answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

She was crying.

Not the controlled dining-room kind.

The messy kind.

“Mara,” she said, “your father left.”

I froze.

“What do you mean, left?”

“He packed a bag. He said he couldn’t stay in a house where everyone continue reading …