Roxy’s POV

“Tell me about my father.”

My mother stopped fastening her earring.

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she lowered her hand and looked at me through the mirror. “Where is this coming from?”

I’d spent nearly ten minutes outside her bedroom, rehearsing how I would ask about my father without starting a fight. But the moment I opened my mouth, all that preparation went out the window.

“I’m asking about my father, Mom.”

“I heard you.” She turned back to her jewelry box. “I just don’t understand why you’re asking me this now.”

“Because I want to know.”

“Roxy, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this.”

“No, we haven’t.”...