in me snapped clean. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I moved.
I grabbed my mother’s forearm and pulled her away from the bed. “Get out right now, or I’m calling security.”
My dad started, “Rachel—”
I pointed at the door. “Out. Now.”
They walked out—my mom looking offended, like I’d spilled wine on her dress; my dad looking irritated, like I’d interrupted continue reading …
