Rebuilding A Life, Not A Home

parents' ho

he windshield, blurring the city lights into long, sad streaks. The cold outsid

een a warm, safe place

wrapped me in her arms. She didn' t ask any questions, just held me

action rather than words, just stood there, his face

m whispered, guiding me to the fam

m everything, the words tumbling out in a broken, jum

ight

aced by a fierce, protective anger. My father jus

er voice low and dangerous. "After

a look of deep unease on his face. H

r voice suddenly hesitant. "There

, cold and sharp, c

t is

, choosing her words carefully. "You' ve been together so long.

ed with embarrassment. "Your mother and I...

sed. "You went to see

her mumbled. "To... formally dis

, had gone to Liam' s family to ask for my hand in marriage. O

ion was a ph

d," I w

at us. Mrs. Davis said... she said Liam could do much better than the daughter of a p

s and her wealthy, w

is new layer of agony, the doo

ll f

ough the frosted glass, I could

ce a thunderous mask of rage. He pushed

es locking onto me. The snow was melting in his dark

e echoing in the quiet house. "What

finger at me, his who

ou that desperate? I told you we were over, and you immediat