“And in exchange,” Dad said evenly, “they control you.”
I didn’t answer.
He took the grocery bag from my hand and opened the passenger door.
“Get in.”
“Dad, please…” I whispered. I could already hear Linda’s voice in my head. Ungrateful. Dramatic. Difficult.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You’re limping down the street with my grandson in your arms because someone wants you to feel small.”
My eyes filled instantly.
“I don’t want a fight.”
“Then they shouldn’t have started one.”
He helped me into the car, buckled Noah in himself, then got behind the wheel.
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