Page 79 of Unraveling with You

She doesn’t get it. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her everything Dad did to me. How can I, when she doesn’t even believe me now?

All I can do is shake my head in disbelief. “So, that’s a no?”

Mom rubs my knee. “Yes, honey. That’s a no.”

Another voice appears behind us. “What's a no?”

Every muscle in my body tightens in defense. Remington holds me tighter, and I follow his gaze over my shoulder.

Dad stands in the doorway. His belly is taut, brows furrowed, and mouth pressed in a tight line. Just catching a millisecond glimpse of him on the edge sets my nerves on fire, my body begging me to bolt from the room.

But the image of Dad upset over my justified heartbreak is the final drop in 33 years of pent-up rage.

I don’t bolt from the room. I stand.

“Do you hurt her too, Dad?” I hiss.

The words rip from my lips before I can stop them. Every shuffle of clothes in the room, tick of Dad’s jaw, and shudder from Mom threatens to tear my pounding heart from my chest, but I only grit my teeth harder as Dad tightens into a scowl.

“What are you even saying, Lilibeth?” He snaps.

I freeze.

Disappointment crashes over my heart; the sight of his rage still poisons my resolve, no matter how strong I can build myself up. Will I ever be free from him?

But Remington lets out a low hum, breaking me from my trace. The visceral disgust I hear in his tone validates me to my core.

Except Mom hasn’t moved. She’s gaping at Dad, hardly seeming to function from shock.

Oh, God, it’s finally hitting her. Anxiety sears my veins. What will she think when she processes the truth?

When Dad tightens his fists, my body hardens.

“You heard me.” I grit my teeth, unable to keep my voice from raising to a yell. “Do you hurt your wife too?”

Dad’s eyes bulge like I’ve thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. He sputters out nonsense syllables before his stare finally lands on Mom.

She’s still frozen, but tears gush down her cheeks. She knows.

Guilt creases every inch of Dad’s face, withering away his age by the second. He hesitates, glancing at my seething boyfriend. But as he returns his gaze to my shaking, furious form, his eyebrows arch in sorrow.

“No,” he rasps, shaking his head. “No, I... No.”

My jaw quivers. I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid if I breathe, this will feel too real, but my lungs force me to release cutting, rapid exhales.

But as Mom breaks into a sob, my focus zips to her.

She can hardly croak out her words. “Oh, my God, does he hit you, Lilibeth? That’s what this is about?”

Mom’s eyes are fractured - unfocused and scattering over me. It terrifies me so much that I can only see Remington’s grounding squeezes of my limp hand, not feel it.

But as Mom looks to Dad for the truth, my heart drops.

My dad is a frail shell of himself, fear stripping him to bones before my eyes.

It’s infuriating.

Hot gasps sputter from my lips as I burst into violent tears. “Why do you always get to be the one who gets to feel bad?”

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