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room fell quiet.
The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.
Mia smiled with all her teeth. “Dad. Want a drink?”
“No,” I said. “But I’d like to make a toast.”
Brent chuckled. “This should be good.”
I lifted my glass of water.
“To targeting the wrong man.”
Mia’s smile twitched.
The doorbell rang.
Then it rang again.
And again.
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I came home twelve hours earlier than planned and immediately continue reading …
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