Page 5 of Unleashed

“They are,” she huffed.

“Was Daddy?” I asked.

She paused. “No. Daddy’s one of the good ones. He was always different. Still is.”

My father was always a decent man with only eyes for my mother. I never saw his eyes stray to beautiful women when we were out. He adored my mother and still did after all these years. I could only hope for a marriage like they had.

“Yes, he is,” I agreed, leaning against the counter, comforted by the thought of my father.

“Are you working this weekend?” she asked.

The thought made me bristle. “Absolutely not.” I slammed the fridge shut, uninterested in food. “Let Thomas Marsden work. He’s the new supervisor now.”

“Is that the nice boy I met at the barbecue? The one with the scar on his chin?”

Thomas made a show at the barbecue, acting like ever the gentleman by pulling the chair out for his wife and getting drinks for the table. If they knew he was one of the men who talked about me like I was a piece of meat to be served to him on a platter.

“That’s him. Insolent prick,” I muttered under my breath.

“Pardon?” my mother asked, her sharp tone making me wince.

“Nothing, Mom.” I rubbed my temple, changing the subject. “Can I come visit you this weekend?”

She sighed loudly into the receiver. “It’s better if you don’t. Your father’s not doing well with his arthritis.”

My stomach tightened. I gripped the counter, my appetite gone. “Is it serious?”

“He’s in pain, dear. He’s been rationing his medication.”

My stomach twisted. I helped my parents as much financially as I could but giving them money was like pulling teeth. They wanted me to plan for my future and be comfortable, not struggle like they were.

“He can’t do that!” I cried, pacing the small kitchen as frustration mounted.

“It’s expensive, Morgan.”

“If you need help, you should’ve told me,” I said, voice rising. “I can help.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “You save your money so you don’t end up living like us.”

“That’s what I’m here for—to help you,” I cried.

“To spend money on us? Forget it, Morgan Jane.” Her use of my full name sent a chill through me, and I cringed.

“I’ll just put money in your account then,” I shot back, knowing full well how this argument would end.

I plopped down on the couch, exhausted from everything this week. To know my father was rationing his meds to save money was the icing on the cake.

“And I’ll write you a check to return it,” she snapped.

“Why are you so stubborn?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes.

“Because I don’t want my daughter paying for my necessities.”

“But youneedthem. That’s the whole point—necessities.” I softened my tone, desperate. “Please, Mom.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Maybe just to help with your father’s medication,” she finally said.

A wave of relief washed over me. “Good. I’ll transfer the money tonight.”

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