The car ride was a silent, suffocating torture. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. I stared out the window, seeing nothing, my hands clenched into fists in my lap. My father didn’t speak. He just drove.
When we got close to the train station, he said, “Millicent, I don't have any fuel in my car, and that road is too lonely for me to drive back. So I will drop you at the train station. From there, it is safe to go to St. Mary's.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Good Lord. “Okay, Dad, thanks.”
“And ensure it is dawn before you come back.” He warned.
“Yes, Dad, I will,” I replied cheerfully. “I have to go, Dad,” I choked out.
“Then go,” he said, his voice breaking.
I reached for the door handle, my body moving on autopilot. I steppe
