The man that I thought I had kicked out of my life was standing in front of me and inside my home—Luther Rutherford Kim.
“How did you get inside?” Who let you in?” I demanded in an enraged voice, slowly rising from where I sat.
Instead of answering my question, Luther just stared at me like we hadn’t seen each other for ages when it was like a couple of days. A soft squeak behind me broke our eye contact as I looked at Hazel who was fiddling with her shirt—a habit she seemed accustomed to doing whenever she was nervous.
“I did, Faith. I’m really sorry. But I-I said n-no to him a-and he insisted a-and h-he, well, was very persuasive,” Hazel stammered like a helpless child.
“Of course, that’s one thing he’s good at,” my voice sounded calm but sarcastic. Directing back my gaze to Luther,
