My dad saw me limping down the street with my baby and groceries and asked, “Where’s your car?” When I whispered, “His mom took it… said I’m lucky they let me stay,” Dad didn’t argue. He opened the door and said, “Get in. We’re fixing this tonight

“Derek!” she called, voice sharpening. “Get out here.”

Footsteps thudded from the hallway. Derek appeared in sweatpants, hair unwashed, face already annoyed like we were interrupting his nap. His eyes landed on my father and widened.

“Mr. Holloway,” he said, trying for polite.

Dad looked at him like he was assessing a loose wire. “Derek,” he said. “I’m continue reading …