"Thank God Muriel doesn't look down on me for coming from a broken home. Thank God she doesn't hold it against me that I have a mother like you! She's a good person. So she says things bluntly sometimes. She doesn't mean any harm!"
"Why do you have to nitpick every little thing?"
"I see it clearly now. Sticking with you means I'll never have a decent life. From this day forward, you're not my mother. I'm going to find my dad!"
I laughed out loud.
I bit down hard on my lip, forcing the tidal wave of emotion back down, and rose to my feet. I walked over to him.
Then I slapped him across the face.
"That one's for being a disloyal, ungrateful son."
A second slap.
"That one's for growing up on my blood and sweat, then turning out worse than a dog I could've raised."
A third slap—
It never landed. He seized my wrist mid-swing.
He shoved me backward. I heard the crack before I felt it, a clean snap in my ankle.
I looked up at my son's cold, indifferent face and let out a bitter laugh.
If he thought I wasn't good enough, he could go find whoever was. His precious father was probably counting on Dylan to fund his retirement right about now.
I turned and gave Muriel a slow once-over.