Has he watched me from the window? He stands at the sink, coffee cup in hand, eyebrows knit together. I try to glide past, but I’m on shaky feet. “You know what Jesus says about fornication,” he says. “Excuse me?” I slow. “You know what He says.” “Ummm.” Coming in from outside makes the house seem darker than usual. Why hasn’t he opened the curtains? He knows they’ve been closed for months. Or maybe there’s something wrong with my eyes. “You didn’t come home last night.” I look him straight in the face—no problem looking at him—and say nothing. What does he care, huh? What. Does. He. Care? “First your brother and now you,” he says. My daddy knows I promised to wait to have sex. To wait until I’m married. “I can’t watch you do the same things he did. Destroying our family. Destroying himself.” Here’s my voice. I find it now. “Don’t you dare say anything about Zach.” I clench my hands into fists. “Don’t you dare.” I find my feet, too.
