kitchen, peacefully drinking my morning coffee, when frantic pounding shook the frame.
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
My father stood there, red-faced and sweating through an expensive designer shirt, trembling with such rage he could barely form a sentence.
My father’s chest heaved as he stood in the doorway.
His face was dark crimson, his hair disheveled, and his hands curled into tight fists as he stared at me with pure fury.
He didn’t say hello.
He didn’t ask how I was.
“You insane, ungrateful little brat!”
