"Just wait, honey. We'll take you--"
"Even if I could stand being in the car with you right now, Dad doesn't need that."
"Can't you call a friend?"
"I could call Grey, but I don't think you want to see him, and I don't want to wait three hours. I want to go. Now." I snatch my bag and storm to the bathroom where I blindly throw more crap in.
"Please, Molly. Just take a breath--"
"No. Until you can have an actual conversation with me without--"
"There's something you need to know." Her voice cracks, and something in her tone stops me cold. She looks terrified. "Something we should have told you a long time ago."
I turn slowly. "What?"
Her mouth opens--
"Cate." Dad's voice is low, hard. A warning.
Mom freezes.
He steps into the doorway, his eyes locked on her. "Are you sure that's what you want?" His voice is calm, but something cold sits beneath it. "Are you sure you're ready for the consequences if you do?"
I watch my mother crumble. Her shoulders curve in, her eyes dropping to the floor. She shakes her head slowly.
"I didn't think so."
The silence is suffocating. I look between them--my father's hard stare, my mother's hollow defeat--and something clicks into place.
"What in the hell is going on?" My voice shakes. "What are you hiding from me?"
"Nothing." He says flatly.
"Bullshit." I step toward him. "Why won't you let her tell me? Why did youthreatenher? You say you don't recognize me, but I've never met this version of you, Dad."
"Molly--" Mom warns.
"No. I see it now. I see how you control her, how you control everything." I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand. "There's a secret, something you've kept from me that's so bad, you can't stand the thought of me knowing."
Dad's jaw tightens. "You have no idea what you're talking about, young lady."
"Then tell me! Tell me what's so important that you'd rather lose me than tell me the truth!"
Silence. Mom won't look at me. Dad won't budge.
"Fine." I grab my bag "Keep your secrets. But I'm done."
I push past them, grab my purse off the hook, and reach for the door.
A hand closes around my arm, stopping me.
I pause. Look down at my father's fingers wrapped around my forearm, then meet his eyes.
"Let go." My voice is ice.
"You're making a mistake," he says through his teeth.
"Maybe I am. But it's mine to make."
