Mom didn’t react. “And now?”
“He couldn’t afford his apartment. He’s been here two weeks.”
Then we walked into the living room.
Dad sat in Lydia’s recliner, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize him.
His face looked wrong—tight in some places, pulled in others. One eye slightly off. His cheeks uneven. His hair darker in an unnatural way.
He didn’t look younger.
He looked damaged.
Dad saw us and stood too quickly. “Kayla.”
Mom looked at him. “You’ve been busy.”
He swallowed. “It didn’t go the way I expected. I made mistakes.”
Ben let out a short laugh. “You think?”
Dad ignored him. He kept his eyes on Mom. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
There it was again. The same arrogance. The belief she would still meet him where he stood.
Lydia said nothing. She just watched.
Mom stepped further into the room.
