The doorbell rang. Derek went for the door like it was his get-out-of-jail-free card. Standing outside was Frank Vance—Derek’s father. June’s ex-husband.
He wore an old work jacket, hands in his pockets. He stepped inside. His eyes landed on me, then on my neck. I hadn’t changed clothes. The burn scar showed above the collar.
“What happened to your throat?” he asked.
“Burned,” I said.
Frank looked at it for a few seconds. Then he asked Derek: “She do that?”
Derek didn’t answer.
Frank studied the mark a little longer. “That’s something she’d do.”
My eyes burned. “Dad. I’m taking Derek and Sophie out of this house. I’m not raising a child in a place like this.”
“Moving out is the right call,” Frank said. “I’ll come by tonight. Talk to Derek. Get you a car lined up.”
I grabbed his hand. “Dad. Thank you.”
Frank’s hand was rough, his knuckles thick with calluses. He squeezed back. “You’re my son’s wife. Sophie’s my granddaughter. Who else would I do this for?”
