It felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I struggled to breathe. “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to make you and Dad hate me so much?” “What are you talking about? We don’t hate you.” Mom ran a hand through her short brown hair, so much like mine. “Honey, it’s a fact of life. When a couple divorces, the woman’s and kids’ standard of living drops while the guy’s improves. This isn’t personal. I can’t afford to send you to Lincoln High. You have to transfer to a public school.” “You hate me.” If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have started bawling. “You and Dad just don’t have the guts to admit it. Wait a second. He really isn’t my father, is he? I shouldn’t be calling him ‘Dad’. Do you want me to call him by his first or last name? I wouldn’t want you to say I have a bad attitude.” “Give it a rest, Victoria. He’s been your father since you were six years old. You don’t have to call him anything else.” “Really.”
