His chair crashed backward.
He stood so quickly that the entire mood in the room changed.
“You think because you have some fancy finance job you’re better than us?”
“I think my money is mine.”
I had barely finished saying it when his hand closed around my throat.
For one stunned second, everything inside me seemed to stop except the awareness that I could not breathe normally.
This was my father.
The man who had been yelling about money a moment earlier was suddenly using his hands to force me out of the house because I had refused to surrender it.
Then he grabbed my hair.
Me tiró hacia el pasillo delantero.
I struggled to keep my balance as he dragged me to the door.
When he threw me outside, my shoulder struck the porch railing.
Pain shot through it.
I turned toward the doorway instinctively.
Mom was there.
