“If you walk out that door then do not expect help from us again,” she snapped.
For the first time in months, the threat did not frighten me.
Colin looked between his mother and me with clear uncertainty.
“I never wanted things to turn out this way.”
“But they did,” I said softly, “and you allowed it to happen.”
Wyatt began fussing in the car outside.
My father lifted him into his arms with a comforting smile.
“Come on little guy,” he murmured, “we are heading home.”
The word home echoed differently now.
I looked at Colin.
“You can come with us if you choose,” I told him, “but I will never again pretend that survival is the same as respect.”
Deborah let out an incredulous laugh.
Colin glanced toward his mother and then toward his son.
Something shifted slowly in his expression.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “give her the car keys.”
“What did you say,” she demanded.
“Give them back.”
She pulled the keys from her purse angrily and tossed them toward the floor.
My father bent down before I could move and picked them up carefully before placing them into my hand.
“Never accept what belongs to you being thrown at your feet,” he said softly.
Colin inhaled deeply.
“I am coming with you,” he said.