My dad saw me limping down the street with my baby and groceries and asked, “Where’s your car?” When I whispered, “His mom took it… said I’m lucky they let me stay,” Dad didn’t argue. He opened the door and said, “Get in. We’re fixing this tonight

I said nothing because the truth already hung in the silence.

Wyatt shifted in my arms while my ankle throbbed sharply again.

My father took the grocery bag from my hand as though it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door of his car.

“Get in.”

“Dad,” I began nervously while my thoughts rushed ahead to how Deborah would react and how Colin would look at me afterward as if everything were my fault.

He did not raise his voice.

“Brianna, get in the car because tonight we fix this.”

There was something firm and unwavering in his tone that made my throat tighten unexpectedly.

He leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice.

“You are walking down a hot street with my grandson in your arms and a swollen ankle because someone wants you to feel dependent.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

“I do not want an argument,” I whispered.

“Then they should not have started one.”

He gently took Wyatt from my arms so that I could sit down without twisting my ankle further, and Wyatt looked up at him with curiosity before breaking into a wide smile.