“Brianna, what is this and whose car is that,” she asked sharply before noticing the uniformed man beside me.
My father stood straight although his boots were dusty and his uniform carried the wear of a long shift.
“Good evening,” he said politely. “I am Brianna’s father.”
Colin appeared in the hallway behind his mother while confusion spread across his face.
“What is happening here,” he asked.
My father kept his voice even.
“What is happening is that my daughter is limping along the road with my grandson in the heat because someone decided she should not have access to the car she pays for.”
The room fell silent.
Deborah folded her arms across her chest.
“They live in my home,” she said stiffly. “There are rules in this house.”
“Rules should not remove someone’s freedom to move,” my father answered calmly, “and they certainly should not make a mother feel as though she must ask permission to live her life.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably and looked at me.
“Brianna, we talked about this.”
“No,” I replied quietly though my voice trembled slightly. “You listened while your mother made the decision.”
Deborah’s expression hardened.
“I maintain order in my household.”
My father took a small step forward.