Chapter 15 — The Suitcase in the Snow

My father reached out and closed his hand hard around my upper arm.

“After everything,” he said, low and furious, his fingers tightening, “everything we gave you, over all these years — ”

I did not pull away, and I did not raise my voice.

I simply looked down, pointedly, at his hand where it gripped my arm, and I held that look, silent, until he followed my eyes down and saw his own hand there and understood what he was doing, and let go, as if the arm had burned him.

“You gave me,” I said, quietly, into the silence, “a suitcase, in the snow, on Christmas morning.