I’d let myself believe my father was just a bystander, a gentle man caught between a domineering wife and a hot-tempered younger daughter.

Watching him now, his thumb rubbing the smooth wire frame of his glasses, I saw the truth.

He wasn’t a bystander.

He was the bank.

“Keep your money, Dad,” I told him.

“Rachel, think about your job,” he warned quietly.

“Think about your lease.

You can’t afford a war with your mother.”