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“Daddy…”
“I went after her businesses because of that shit. People lost their jobs. Her family lost what they built. You knew she didn’t do it, and you watched me go after her anyway.”
Storie pulled her knees toward her.
I had made those decisions. I wasn’t going to pretend my fifteen-year-old had marched me into Kira’s restaurant and told me what to do. But she watched me make them.
“You only think that because you’re talking to Melody again,” she argued.
I stared at her. She stared right back.
“You are. Don’t deny it. I saw her calling you yesterday.”
“I’m the father here. I can talk to whoever the fuck I want.”
“NO! You were fine with me until she came back,” she fussed.
“I haven’t been fine with you for a minute.”
Her eyes filled.
There had been a time when that would’ve ended the conversation. I would’ve softened my voice, sat beside her, and started figuring out how to make her feel better.
I stayed where I was.
“You’re choosing her over me,” she whimpered.
“Don’t do that.” I was over the waterworks.
“She’s a liar!”
“And what are you?”
She stared at me.
I hated how badly I wanted her to give me an answer I could work with. An explanation that wasn’t another excuse. Something that would help me understand how we had gotten here.
I had dealt with grown men who would lie while you held the evidence in front of their faces. I never expected to stand in my daughter’s bedroom having the same fucking conversation.
“Did you give Cookie the chocolate?”
Her chin started trembling.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Daddy, please.”
“For what, Storie?”
She wiped her face.
“I gave it to her,” she confessed.
“Did you know it could hurt her?”
She nodded.
