I woke up to the smell of bacon and blueberry scones drifting up the stairs to my bedroom.
Lying quietly, I questioned whether or not it was going to be harder to face my father after seeing him in a different light from last night or glimpsing the reaction on my mom’s face when she learned about her trampled flowers.
I stopped to use the bathroom before venturing downstairs into the lion’s den, but my extra long pee saved me from getting face-shamed by the lawyer and professor of the household. I’d be in the doghouse for weeks if my mother had a say, and highly likely she would, then I’d be under house arrest for months.
Finding a plate set for me at the table was unusual. I usually had to serve myself; they’d be gone to work before I got downstairs. But what was more bizarre was the s
