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Valiant. Troy’s efforts were valiant. And for my benefit. But he couldn’t have failed to feel hurt. And that cuts me to my very core.

Earlier, at the back door, Troy had pressed his lips to my head and told me once again that I wasn’t to worry about my dad. We’d be at college soon. We’d make it work. I watched him cross the gravel between and, when the dark night swallowed his form, I closed the door and fought a wave of red-hot anger. I hate my dad.

I’m in the library now, shoes kicked off and feet curled under me on a wingback chair. I’m cradling a cup of Mariam’s special tea made in the hopes it’ll calm me. I’m hiding, basically. Biting the skin around yesterday’s French manicure while my stomach churns.

He’s such a lying asshole, saying those things about Troy’s father. He would’ve told me if his dad was a felon.

My mind rotates through all the things my father said. And how I reacted. It’s like a treadmill I can’t seem to stop. My dad calls me names, and in return, I mouth off like a guttersnipe (one of his insults), providing him with proof that he’s right to have such a low opinion of me.

Careless, impulsive, embarrassing, that’s so Clara.

“There you are.”

So much for hiding. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. They say the devil is vain too. Conceited and full of self-importance. I bet he’s nicer to his daughters.

I don’t look up, and I don’t answer as my father saunters into the room like the cock of the walk, as my grandmother might’ve said. But he’s just a cock, Grandma. An arrogant, hateful man.

“Well, you certainly excelled yourself this evening.”

“What can I say? When I commit to something, I really do. Though, I will say everything was perfectly fine until you tore into me, telling how I should live my life. Again.”

“It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? You’re incapable of taking responsibility for your actions.” His eyes flick over me coldly. “You’re a disgrace.”

I give an unhappy huff. I missed that one from the list.

“You think that’s funny?”

“Nothing about tonight is even mildly amusing, Father.”

“Why must you insist on taking my warnings as a challenge? You’re a laughingstock, Clara. I’m ashamed to call you my daughter.”

“What a coincidence,” I begin, sliding my feet out from under me. “Because I’m ashamed of being your daughter.”

“Watch yourself.”

“No,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m tired of pretending everything is fine, like everything you do and say is for the good of the family.”

His gaze glitters over me. “You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself, or else you wouldn’t have brought that boy tonight to embarrass me.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” My voice is ice.

“Your mother would be turning in her grave.”

Old hurts bubble immediately to the surface. “Don’t you dare.” My voice is low and hard. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

“Why, when it’s true? She would be ashamed of you too.”

“You’re so low.” Angry tears spring in my eyes. “You want to talk about shame. Well, I’m ashamed of you. I was just a child!” I yell, throwing out my arm. “But I still remember the wrongness of it all, seeing things I shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That afternoon in your office, I remember seeing Vanessa, and not knowing quite why my skin was prickling.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You know that song? The Christmas one about Mommy kissing Santa Claus? I’ve always hated it. Maybe because I saw you that day, adjusting your pants and rubbing her lipstick from your mouth. It’s a bit of a gender swap, sure, given Mommy wasn’t the one doing the kissing.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” he adds, turning away. He crosses the room to pour himself a drink.