Mom sighs and rubs her forehead. My father taps his fingers on the dining room table. We've been sitting like this since I got home.
It's 4:00.
"Well?" my father finally says.
I stare at him.
"Mia, I thought you were better than this."
I shake my head.
"What?"
"You can't possible have any thoughts about me. You haven't been here for a decade."
"Stop it, Mia. He's here now," my mom says.
"It doesn't fucking matter. He doesn't know me. In fact," I stand up, "neither do you." I walk out of the room.
"Don't you fucking walk away from me!" my dad shouts.
I freeze. The malice in his voice... I recognize it. I turn around and it hits me. His palm slams against my cheek and I fall to the floor, cradling my face. My eyes tear up, but I refuse to cry.
"Mitchell!" Mom cries.
I look at her. Fear covers her features. I close my eyes.
"You said you had changed," she whimpers.
That's what makes me cry. The fact that she believed him.