Ipark in the driveway, and before I even step out, I know Catherine and Judge Harrington are inside. Their cars are parked in the driveway.
I pass by the garage. A shuttered window is ajar, with glass shards on the outside and tiles inside. I pause and listen. No one is here, and the house seems to hold its breath. A shiver runs through my spine as the wind blows through the shattered window as I enter.
I pass the pool and head for the hallway. Just before I reach the stairs, a voice shouts from the kitchen.
“Carmen.”
I turn toward the living room.
“Catherine,” I call back.
“Carmen,” she says again, closer now.
I pass the living room, and I enter the kitchen.
She sits at the kitchen table. Judge Harrington stands behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. The moment Catherine sees me, she’s on her feet, crossing the room in three fast steps. And she pulls me into her arms.
“Baby, we were so worried about you.”
“I know.” I ease her away, my hands wrapping around her wrists.
He just watches me. His face is calm, like this is a courtroom and I’m a file he’s already closed.
I used to wish I knew who my dad was. I used to build him in my head, piece by piece. Sometimes he was a pilot who lifted me into the sky, sometimes a king with a crown and a throne and a place for me at his side. But reality stands in front of me now. He is just a judge who locked me up, then adopted me, not to save me but to keep me close. A case that never really closed because, somehow, he still needed me.
I wanted to love them once. Both my mom and my dad. I thought love was something you earned if you tried hard enough. Now I know better. We don’t choose our parents. They don’t choose us. We’re stitched together and told to call it family. We grow around the stitches, and when we finally break, everyone asks what went wrong, but no one asks who broke us.
“Where were you?” he asks, folding his arms.
I step closer. Catherine’s hands slip from my sleeves. “Why do you even care? Was it so important to get your face on the news?”
“Carmen, for Christ’s sake,” he snaps. “We were worried about you. We came here, and the place was wrecked. You were gone for two days.”
“People leave,” I say. “Judas did.”
He strides toward me. His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. He pries my eyelids open with his thumbs, forcing me into the kitchen light.
“What did you take? Are you on drugs?”
I shove him. He stumbles back a step.
“No,” I shout. “And even if I did, why would you care? You’re never around.”
“Of course we care,” he says. “We’re your parents.”
“On paper.” My voice breaks on the words. “You were never my parent.”
Catherine moves between us, but I don’t stop. “If you cared about your children so much, why didn’t you care about Judas when he left?”
“Judas died, sweetie,” Catherine says softly.
“No.” The word rips out of me. “Judas is alive. And not because of either of you. The moment the cops showed up here, you stopped looking for him.”
“He’s dead, Carmen,” he says.
“He isn’t.” I tilt my head. “I know he’s alive because I was with him for the past two days.”
His face drains. “What the fuck, Carmen? Why didn’t you tell us?”
