MILLY
The living room looked exactly the way it always had. Same portraits on the wall. Same expensive furniture arranged for photographs rather than comfort.
It should have felt familiar. It felt like walking into a stranger’s house wearing my own memories like a borrowed coat.
“Sit down,” my father said, already pouring himself a drink even though it wasn’t even six in the evening. “We’ll discuss this calmly.”
“I don’t want to sit down.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care anymore. “I want the truth. All of it. Right now.”
My mother sank onto the edge of the couch, her hands twisted together in her lap. She wouldn’t look at me directly.
That alone told me more than anything she’d said on the porch.
“Milly, you have to understand the position this puts ou
