Lizzie helped her mother finish dinner as they waited for her father to get back from wherever he’d gone.
“Where do you think he went?” Lizzie asked as she set the table.
“I’m not sure,” her mother said, worry lines etched into her forehead. “I’ve never seen him act like that.”
Dinner was ready to be served, but her father still hadn’t returned. They made up their plates and sat down, but neither ate much. They both stared down at their plates, pushing the food around.
After what felt like hours, they heard a car pull into the driveway and perked up. They turned to look at the front door, and after a few moments, the door opened.
Her mother shot out of her chair and hurried to her husband, who limped into the door. Lizzie followed after.
Her father’s hair was mussed, and a
