“Stay here for a minute while I start the hot water in the shower,” he said before turning toward the hallway. However he suddenly stopped walking when he noticed the shattered porcelain plate scattered across the kitchen floor.
Tiffany stepped beside him and sighed softly as if the sight caused her disappointment. “I did not want you to see this tonight because tomorrow is already difficult enough for you,” she said quietly.
Tomorrow was the anniversary of my mother’s death.
My father rubbed his forehead slowly while staring down at the broken pieces on the floor. “What happened here?” he asked with a tired voice.
Tiffany calmly explained that I had become emotional and thrown the plate during a sudden outburst. She said I screamed at her and ran outside before she could stop me.
“That is not true!” I shouted weakly from the stool while gripping the counter for support. My father raised his hand slightly without turning toward me.
“Let Tiffany finish explaining,” he said firmly.
She continued describing a story where I lost control of my temper because the anniversary of my mother’s death was approaching. Her voice sounded calm and reasonable, which made every word feel more believable.