Shattered Stories

I saw it in her eyes as she topped my coffee. Finish this, then let’s get to it. Henry peered over his newspaper, giving us that look telling us he knew we were up to something on the weekends, that he wouldn’t ask, but he didn’t necessarily agree. “The two of you were far too late coming home last night,” he said. Not condescending or correcting. Merely stating. “And looking far too pretty and happy about it.” “Dad,” Ali...