My father shouted: At Least The Army Pays Her Rent

city stretched below, glittering with other people’s windows, other people’s lives. The cold air felt clean against my face. I rested one hand on the stone railing and let myself breathe.

My father came out a few minutes later.

For once, he did not stand beside me as if posing. He stood a respectful distance away.

“I still have them,” he said.

I did not continue reading …