“So? He could be a dangerous criminal!”
“She’s okay, right?”
“You need to be a father and talk to her!”
“Okay,” Mark sighed, slamming the laptop shut. “Emma, get out now!”
Emma slowly entered the living room, tears streaming down her face.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Mark said coldly. “Don’t ever go back to that park again.”
“But Dad, he has no one else.”
“It’s not our problem. Stop wasting my hard-earned money on street garbage.”
“It’s not garbage!”
“Go to your room! Now!”
That was the end of the park visits, but the beginning of our decade-long nightmare. A few months later, Emma became gravely ill with a rare and debilitating neurological disease.
“Hospital bills are ruining us,” I told Mark one evening, showing him a stack of overdue medical bills.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he replied, zipping up a travel bag.
“Where are you going?”
