12
Thea has missed the bus again. She hasn’t said a word to me since she got in the car. Sleeping on it clearly hasn’t softened the mood.
Was I too rough on her last night?
Maybe, but it’s too late to back down now. Thea will grow up a normal, happy person. And someday she’ll look back on this and thank me for coming down so hard on her. It won’t be tomorrow—or even next year. But one day.
“Aren’t you going to eat that?” I ask her as she stares at a slice of buttered toast. “It’s going to get cold.”
“I’m not hungry,” she drones without looking at me.
Another breakfast skipped. I glance at her cheekbones; they’re far more noticeable than usual. “Come on, Thea. You have to eat something. You’ve got a whole day of school ahead of you. You won’t learn anything on an empty stomach.”
Thea
