“Get out,” my father said.

His voice had dropped into a low, terrifying register I had heard perhaps twice in my entire life, and he rose from his seat and stepped, deliberately, so that he was standing between me and Julian.

“Dad, listen to me—” Julian began.

“Do not call me Dad.” My father took a step closer, until he was inches from Julian’s face.

“You have five minutes to take your personal clothing and leave my daughter’s home, before I throw you into the street myself.” Julian’s eyes went wildly to his mother, his last remaining hope in that room.