“Mia, get down here!” my dad calls out while I pace upstairs, waiting for him to tell me what the hell is happening.
When my dad told me to dress nicely because he had a surprise, I did what any daughter would do and listened.
I don’t own anything “nice,” so I settled for my short denim skirt and lace camisole. That’s the nicest thing I own—how sad.
My heart is in my throat as I thump down the basement steps, unsure of what I’m about to be confronted with. Maybe, just maybe, he’s about to tell me he’s finally coming clean. I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping this is how our conversation will go.
Sadly, it doesn’t.
As I peer around the basement, I raise my eyebrow in confusion. The room has been converted into a makeshift bedroom, with a small, single dirty bed sitting off into t
