My mom and dad appeared at the top of the stairs, clothed in their nightclothes, their faces covered with sleep and confusion. My mother clutched her robe closed, her eyes wide.
They hurried down, their confusion turning to shock as they took in the scene: the broken door, me in the scandalous dress, tears streaking my face, and Pascal, standing in the middle of their living room like an avenging angel of judgment.
“Pascal, what is the meaning of this?” My dad, asked, his voice firming up with paternal authority. “What in God’s name is going on down here?”
“Why don’t you ask your daughter, sir?” Pascal said, his tone icy and formal. “Ask her where she’s been tonight. Go on, Millicent. Tell them. Tell your God-fearing parents where their little girl was while they thought she was at a pr
