ever could.
“So,” my father said, drawing it out while leaning back against the cooler, “where’s this imaginary fiancé of yours? Held up at the toy store?”
A couple people chuckled. Someone muttered, “Jesus.”
My face stayed calm. Inside, something settled—not anger, not hurt. Recognition. This wasn’t a joke. This was a power play.
I looked down at my continue reading …
