**Isa
I hadn't been this nervous in a long time. My hands were sore from me trying to wring them of my anxieties. My chest was so tight, I wasn't even sure if I was breathing unless I made the audible sound. And my stomach ached and pinged with reminders that I was supposed to be laying off of stressful endeavors.
But this seemed unavoidable. And frankly, I was curious.
This man who my mother and I had managed to escape over ten years ago was there on the other side of a dingy diner window waiting for me to meet him. The man who'd caused me and my mother so much trauma, he was here.
I hadn't seen a picture of my dad, let alone seen his face in person, since my mom and I got away, but I recognized him in an instant. He was a little rougher around the edges, dressed in a ratty bomber-
