After packing only what I need, I grip the bag in my hand and close my bedroom door behind me.

Castro is in the living room when I enter, holding up a picture of me when I was younger with my parents. It depicts a time before it all turned to shit. Dropping the bag with a thud, he spins around, and I snatch the picture from his hand and set it back down. His face contorts, and I know he has questions.

Well, he isn’t going to get any answers!

He has no right to know anything about my past. Any progress he might have made with me in...