AMY
The text message I received from Dad was short and precise: “Could you come over for dinner?”
It was supposed to be a question, but it wasn't. My Dad expected me at their home on Saturday by 7 p.m.
Saturday evening was here, and I was standing right inside the house I grew up in, like I was a stranger. After coming up with different excuses which Dad refused to listen to, I was here now.
“Amy, how are you, darling?” Sandra's voice was bright. Too bright and her smile felt practiced. Her picture was everywhere, from the sitting room to the dining room, which made the whole place look unfamiliar.
Dad was standing behind her with a plea in his eyes. I could do nothing but offer a forced smile.
“Come on, come on, dinner is served.” Sandra chirped in, pointing at the covered dishe
