She slammed the door again.
Tessa had been angry with me before. She had argued over clothes, curfews, school, her phone, all the normal things.
She had never looked at me like that.
That night, I asked Graham to call Colin.
He thought I was overreacting.
“About what? A teenager crying because someone wouldn’t buy her fries?”
“You didn’t see her.”
“I’ve known Colin for more than twenty years.”
“And I’ve known our daughter for sixteen.”
Neither of us slept particularly well after that.
The next afternoon, I changed my schedule without telling Graham.
I didn’t call Colin.
I simply drove to the studio myself.
I arrived ten minutes before Tessa’s class was supposed to end.
Through the glass doors, I could see girls lined up at the barre, following an instructor as music played softly from inside.
