Meghan
As far as I can remember, my father’s study is a room segmented from the living room. To get there, I have to walk through the living room.
I step into the large living room and head toward the other end, where a dark wood door waits. I open it and step inside.
My heart pounds hard against my chest as I enter, and I can feel it in my ears. The study is almost dark, dimly lit by a little fire crackling in the fireplace to my left.
Behind the desk sits my father, leaning back in his chair with a glass of scotch in his hand.
I clench my jaw as I walk closer to him. I am ready for anything he is going to throw at me.
The silence in the room is deafening, heavy with an atmosphere that feels almost tangible. The only sounds breaking through this stillness are the rhythmic
