Abigail’s feet barely touched the ground as she hurried through the familiar dirt path that led to their home, while Trina struggled to keep pace with her. Her chest burned, but she didn’t stop, not until the weathered wooden gate came into view. She pushed it open with more force than she meant to, the hinges groaning in protest, and strode straight inside.
The house was quiet and that made her pulse spike with unease.
But the moment she stepped into the dining area, the fight inside her faltered.
Her father sat at the head of the table with his shoulders slumped, while his once-strong frame seemed smaller, weighed down by something heavier than age. His hands were clasped together atop the table, knuckles pale from the tightness of his grip. His eyes were lowered, dark and distant, an
