The Night My Father Locked the Door — And the Truth Tiffany Hid
The first thing I asked was whether my shoes had been found.
It’s an embarrassing detail, considering how close I’d come to dying, but in my confused mind those shoes represented the only belongings I had left.
“They have them,” Margo assured me.
“They’re drying somewhere.”
My second question was whether my father was angry.
Margo looked toward the door.
She didn’t lie.
“I don’t know what he’s feeling.
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