Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I turn to Mr. Masters. “Are you kidding me?”
“Are you kidding me?” He growls.
“How dare you!” I snap, and I storm my way back to the car.
“How dare I?” he calls as he follows me. “How dare you?”
“Oh. I dare, all right,” I shout as I arrive at the car.
Willow and Sammy are standing wide-eyed at the car, waiting for it to be unlocked. I don’t think they’ve ever seen someone as angry as I am at this moment.
Mr. Masters drops the chairs on the ground and pops the trunk of his car, and the kids dive into the back seat to escape the fury. I get in the front and slam the door hard.
He opens my door. “Don’t slam my car door!” he yells.
I open it and slam it again… harder.
The kids are sitting frozen in the back, afraid to speak or move in case we turn on them.
Their father gets in his precious car and revs the engine before he pulls out in a rush.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
I have to say it.
“How dare you?” I cry out.
“How dare I what?” His angry eyes flicker between the road and me.
“How dare you blame Willow for that horrible piece of work.” I shake my head. “You need to apologize to her this very minute.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Unfucking believable. You have the emotional intelligence of a fish. It’s blatantly obvious that those girls were and have been picking on your daughter for a while, but you’re far too busy chatting up their mothers to fucking notice.”
“What?” he cries with incredulity.
“You heard me,” I shout back
“Do not raise your voice at me, and do not curse in front of my children.”
“Your children are not robots. Raised voices are perfectly normal everyday occurrences in families. Stop being so damn safe all the time.”
“I would rather be safe than a complete lunatic.”
I narrow my eyes. “Listen, you big baboon, I’m not afraid of your little high society sluts, and will not tolerate them bullying Willow under any circumstance. I don’t care how much money they have.”
He glares at me.
“And I am not about to buy their fucking coffee! How dare you not pull her into line about that? Do I look like a servant?”
He clenches his jaw as he drives. “Unlike you, I don’t like causing a scene.”
“Because you’re a wimp!” I yell. “Too scared of what everyone will think to defend your own daughter or your nanny.”
He glares at the road and grips the steering wheel with white-knuckle force.
The whole sky feels like it’s a shade of red. I can’t remember ever being this angry.
Fifteen silent minutes later, we arrive home.
I get out of the car. “Go and get changed, kids. We’re going out,” I announce.
The kids waste no time and quickly take off in the direction of the house.
Mr. Masters gets out of the car and slams the door. “I hope you’re happy with the dramatics you have caused.” He brushes past me.
“Do you know what that bully said?” I call. “I heard her. I heard her say it with my own ears.”
He turns to face me.
My eyes fill with tears at the sheer memory of it. Poor Willow. “She said that Willow’s mum probably killed herself just to get away from her. Do you have any idea what it would be like to hear that being said to you?”
He scowls, clearly torn between disbelief and hurt.
“You’re her father, for fuck’s sake.”
His face falls.
“You were going to ground her without a second thought,” I whisper in disgust.
His haunted eyes hold mine as he processes what has happened.
“They are picking on her, and you didn’t even bother to ask for her side of the story. You just believed them without question. What kind of a father does that to his daughter?”
He drops his head in shame.
The kids come bounding back to the car, all changed and ready to go.
“Get in the car, kids. We’re going to McDonald’s.” I sigh.
Mr. Masters looks between Willow and me. “Can I come?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “You’re not invited.”
The kids get in the car and we drive away. I watch him disappear in the rear-view mirror, standing still, watching us leave without him.
Mr. Masters disappointed me today.
I don’t think I like him anymore.
I wait on the porch for my Uber driver to pick me up. It’s 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night, and I’m going out with Emerson. I’m wearing a pale pink dress and I have my cardigan slung over my folded arms.
I haven’t spoken to Mr. Masters since our fight at football this morning, but the kids have spent the afternoon laying on my bed, watching movies.
It seems they’re both giving him the silent treatment as well. Good.
The door opens and Mr. Masters comes out to stand beside me. He puts his hands into his pockets and the two of us stare forward, out into the darkness.