Getting Kicked Out

“You are not coming back.  No matter what your mother says.  Or your aunt.  If you want to get your things out of the house, you should come when I am at work.  I’ll know when you get there and you will have exactly one hour to get your things and leave.  Or I will call the police.”  I read my father’s email several times and wondered how I should respond.  Or if I even should. 

I knew what he wanted me to say, but I didn’t think I could.  What had happened had not been my fault, but I knew our relationship would never recover.  He had been embarrassed in front of his friends and he never did well with embarrassment.  What he hadn’t yet realized was the fact I had gotten to the party after the accident had already occurred.  I had walked in on mayhem and since I was the first person my father had seen, he assumed I was the one responsible. 

Now he was kicking me out of the house without letting me explain what had happened two nights before.  Which was all well and good with me because I had been looking for a way to make a clean break from my parents.  I just hadn’t known how to.  What my father didn’t know was the fight at the party wasn’t started by me, but it definitely was over me.  By the two men who thought they were the father of my unborn child. 


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