Parker sat at the dining table.
Her hands were tucked beneath her thighs.
Her father sat across from her.
Her mother sat beside him.
The room felt strangely familiar.
Too familiar.
Her father's eyes remained fixed on her.
"You're always disappointing me."
Parker swallowed.
"I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't change anything."
"I know."
"You knew what I expected."
"I tried."
Her father's expression hardened.
"You always say that."
Parker looked down.
"I really did."
The chair scraped against the floor.
Her father stood.
Parker's breathing stopped.
He walked around the table.
"Look at me."
She didn't.
"I said look at me."
Parker slowly raised her eyes.
His hand lifted.
She flinched.
And then—
SMACK.
The moment his palm connected with her cheek—
Everything changed.
Parker was outside her house.
Ten years old.
Still wearing her children's track uniform.
Her sports bag hung from her shoulder.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
