By the time Dad turned into the cracked parking lot of Derek’s parents’ apartment complex, my mouth had gone dry.
The place looked exactly the way it always did in the late afternoon—sun-faded stucco, uneven railings, a few dead plants in pots nobody remembered to water, and a row of cars lined up under crooked metal shade covers.
Patricia’s white SUV sat in its usual spot.
Derek’s truck was parked two spaces over.My car was there too.
Mine, even if the title said otherwise.
I knew that blue sedan from every angle.
I had spent two years making the payments out of my paycheck while Derek bounced from one plan to the next and Patricia kept reminding everyone how generous she was for letting us stay.The car was parked close to the building, tucked in a space that should have been mine to use.
Seeing it there made something twist low in my stomach.
Dad turned off the engine and looked at me.
“Can you walk?”I nodded automatically.
He glanced at my ankle and raised an eyebrow.
“Can you walk enough to get inside and get your things?” he asked.
That question stopped me.Get my things.
Not ask for the keys.
Not smooth things over.
Not sit down and discuss feelings around Patricia’s table while she played victim and Derek stared at the floor.Get my things.
I looked at him.
“My things?”
Dad held my gaze.She was one of those women who could look perfectly put together while making you feel sloppy just for standing near her.
Her blond hair was sprayed into place, her lipstick immaculate, her expression sharpened by habit.
The irritation vanished when she saw my father, and something colder took its place.
