Avery gradually pushed the front door open, her hands shaky about the metal handle. The hinges gave their customary soft creak, but tonight the sound was louder, sharper—like she was proclaiming her arrival to a home she already dreaded entering.
The weight of everything she was carrying—her books, phone, soggy outfit, and the truth she had attempted so desperately to flee—her backpack slung halfway off her shoulder. She gasped as she entered, her breath snagged in her chest.
The corridor was uncommonly cold. The sort of cold that caused her stomach to twist and her ribs to constrict. It was too silent, too still. Not even the hum of the ancient kitchen refrigerator seemed to fill the room. Although the living room lights were off, a dim light from the lamp close the entry indicated him.
her dad.
He was perched on the ancient wooden chair close to the doorway of the living room. Same chair that had belonged to her grandmother. He only sat there if something had gone drastically incorrect. Always his place of judgment, the chair was where he contacted her anytime she had violated a regulation or returned late. where in eighth grade he sat when she failed her math exam. Where he sat the day her mother departed.
Tonight, that chair resembled a king's punishment.
His face was unmoving, his jaw clenched so strongly a vein pulsated at his neck, and his arms were wrapped firmly against his chest. Avery's knees gave out at the sight in his eyes. It wasn't wrath. She might manage anger. His rage revealed he cared enough to respond.
Worse this was.
Years in the making, this was disappointment with cold, fatigued rage.
"Avery," he said in a low, precisely controlled voice.
She swallowed, saying "Dad."
He did not blink. "The school called."
Avery felt her stomach fall. Her throat closed hurtfully. She tried to calm her breathing, but air appeared to reject her lungs.
"They declared you are pregnant."
He didn't scream it. He didn't gasp, choke, or ask questions. He said it flat, as if he had been anticipating letdown eventually.
Avery held motionless and silent, a fiery surge behind her eyes. She had no capacity to conceal anything; no strength to pretend she wasn't scared. She then nodded. Once just.
Her father did not respond for a long while. His expression was fixed in stone, his eyes unmoving. Long enough that Avery wondered if he had been holding that breath all day, he next exhaled slowly.
"I cautioned you," he whispered, but the quiet was worse than any yell. "I urged you to stay focused, to keep your head down, to evade danger."
"Dad—"
"I did everything I could." His voice broke from something buried deep and unfinished, not from emotion for her. "After your mother left, I gave you rules, stability. I tried to give you a clean path."
Avery felt the sting right away. Unless he was furious or exhausted, her father seldom talked of her mother. It was both tonight.
"Here we are, though," he concluded shaking his head.
Avery took a little step forward, her fingers gripping the strap of her backpack. "I'm sorry. I did not intend this. I am also afraid."
His jaw fixed sharper. "Sorry won't correct this."
Her words felt like cold water. She breathed violently.
You have brought shame into this home, he said. Into this family.
She opened then closed her mouth. Shame. The one thing he detested most. Once—at least the way he saw it—Shame had destroyed their family; now, he thought she brought it back.
"Dad... please," she whispered, "I need time to think. I need help. I need—"
"You need to leave," he said abruptly, slicing through her words like a knife.
Avery stopped.
"What?" Her voice was little.
"Tonight."
Her pulse rang in her ears. Her sight was hazy. She wondered if it was tears, terror, or both.
"You're kicking me out?" Her voice wobbled, cracked even if she tried to remain calm.
"You made your choice, Avery. His voice was finished. "Live with it."
The chamber wobbled for a while. She prayed and waited for him to soften, for him to see his daughter instead of a mistake. Not a hardship. She waited for the father she had always wanted.
He didn't even look her direction.
Turning away from her, he proceeded toward the kitchen, the discussion over in his head.
Standing there motionless, Avery refused to fall since weeping in front of him always made matters worse, tears burning behind her eyes.
She pushed her legs to move and pushed her fingers to unclench from her bag. She flung the front door open and went outdoors into the frigid, wet air.
Her shut the door, and somehow that little click seemed louder than thunder.
She stared at the yard she had known all her life from the modest front steps. Behind her, the house was suddenly foreign with barren and unfriendly windows. She saw for the first time that perhaps she had never really had a true home here.
Stepping off the porch, Avery went into the silent street. Her legs felt unsteady, her breaths hurried. Not knowing where she was heading, she strode blindly. She just knew she had to leave.
She approached the street corner just as a strong, heavy rumble rolled over the heavens.
Split the air with an amazing thunder clap.
A strong, sudden torrent of rain drenched her immediately. Within a few seconds, her clothes were freezing against her. Her hair crushed against her cheeks and dripped water into her mouth. She kept walking, nevertheless.
Vehicles passed swiftly, spitting muddy water on her legs already soaked. A few drivers slowed down and stared at her anxiously, but no one stopped.
They never performed.
The tears she had held back at last spilled, combining with the rain until she lost one from the other. Every pace felt heavier, like she was carrying her father's grief, her own terror, all the things she could not regulate.
From sobbing, from breathing, from holding herself together when she wanted to fall onto the damp pavement and disappear, her chest hurt.
With each stride, her father's words were more resonant.
You have brought humiliation into this house.
Your selection was done by yourself.
Leave.
Avery cleaned her face, but the rain made it impossible to remove anything. She encircled herself, grasping at any remaining warmth. Where she would go was unknown. She did not have any cash. No scheme. No mother. And the one individual she had thought might support her—her father—had shoved her into the frost.
She nevertheless continued walking.
She walked since thinking stopped one. Thinking was breaking.
Desperately Avery wanted someone to care enough to call her name. to grab her hand. For her to find a place to rest. Still, the road remained vacant and the rain only worsened.
In all her life, she had never felt so lonely.
Avery kept going forward, her heart rate becoming something else as the storm raged around her.
It was not power.
Still not yet.
It was about survival.
And for the time being, that was sufficient for the following step.