Then we walked into the living room.
Dad sat in Lydia’s recliner, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize him.
His face looked wrong—tight in some places, pulled in others. One eye slightly off. His cheeks uneven. His hair darker in an unnatural way.
He didn’t look younger.
He looked damaged.
Dad saw us and stood too quickly. “Kayla.”
Mom looked at him. “You’ve been busy.”
He swallowed. “It didn’t go the way I expected. I made mistakes.”
Ben let out a short laugh. “You think?”
Dad ignored him. He kept his eyes on Mom. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
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