My Family Toasted

eyes met mine.

“Yes.”

The room went silent.

That one hurt differently.

Dad’s betrayal was architecture. I had lived inside it so long I knew every hallway.

Mom’s betrayal had always been wallpaper. Softer. Easier to pretend wasn’t structural.

I turned away.

“Mara—”

“You should leave.”

“We’re not done.”

“Yes,” I said. “We are.”

He looked suddenly alarmed. “About continue reading …