Then, my parents arrived—late, as usual.
My father, Richard, walked in with that smug expression he always wore. The one that made him look like he was entitled to the world’s attention, the one that made him think he was above everyone else. My mother, as always, trailed behind him quietly, clutching her purse. It was clear from the moment they walked in that they didn’t really care about Amanda’s special day.
What caught my eye immediately, though, was what my father wasn’t carrying: no gift bag, no wrapped box—just a rough, splintered stick, crudely torn from a tree. My heart sank. I didn’t know what he was playing at, but I already had a sinking feeling that this was not going to be a good moment.
Chapter 2: The Horrific Gift
“Dad, what’s that?” Amanda asked quietly, confused and wide-eyed, her excitement turning into uncertainty.
