“Tessa’s always been difficult.”
“I know.”
“We spoiled her.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“Your mother and I kept thinking you were strong enough to handle everything.”
I gave a tired laugh.
“That isn’t a compliment.”
“No.”
He looked ashamed.
“No, I suppose it isn’t.”
For the first time, my father seemed to understand that strength had never meant permission.
“I’m giving you sixty days,” I said.
He looked up.
“Sixty?”
“To find somewhere to live.”
His shoulders dropped.
“That’s generous.”
“It’s practical.”
He nodded.
Then he asked the question I knew was coming.
“Will you still help us?”
I thought about it.
“I’ll help you find an affordable place. I’ll give you a list of resources. I’ll help with the paperwork.”
“But financially?”
“No.”
His eyes lowered.
I continued.
“I can help you rebuild. I will not keep rebuilding the same house while you keep setting it on fire.”
