“You complained about me?” my father asked.

His voice was dangerously quiet now.

My mother looked at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Arthur, she’s twisting things,” she said, her voice shaking.

“She’s trying to make me look like the bad guy.”

“You are the bad guy, Mom,” Megan said from the doorway.

She looked at me one last time, her eyes completely devoid of the warmth we had shared when we were children.

“Thanks for the coffee, Leo,” she said.

Then she opened the apartment door and walked out into the drafty hallway, her boots clicking loudly against the concrete steps.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the small room.

We stood in the silence she left behind.

Lauren slowly stood up from the couch, her eyes moving from my father to my mother.

“I should go,” Lauren whispered.

“I’m sorry, Leo.”

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

She slipped past my mother, her coat trailing against the doorframe, and then she too was gone.

Now it was just the three of us.