“This is your home, sweetheart,” he said, holding my face like I was still 10.
In that moment, the weight on my chest lifted just enough for me to breathe again.
Veronica wasn’t exactly thrilled. She smiled, but it was tight and thin-lipped — the kind of smile you give when someone steps on your brand-new rug. She didn’t say much at first, just gave me a quick once-over and muttered something about “timing.”
I did everything I could to stay out of her way. I stayed in the guest room, kept quiet, cleaned up after myself, and thanked her for every meal.
She never raised her voice, but she watched me like a hawk.
Still, I told myself it was fine. Temporary. Dad loved having me there. He’d sit by my bed and rub my feet or tell me old stories from when I was a baby. He even brought me little things: a new pillow, herbal tea, and a stuffed animal for the twins.
