PART 1
My father slapped me across the face in front of my entire family.
Not at home.
Not behind closed doors.
But inside a glass-walled conference room on the thirty-second floor of a Boston law firm.
During my grandfather’s will reading.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
My cheek burned.
My aunt gasped.
My cousin covered her mouth.
My brother Eric pretended to look shocked, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
My father, Richard Morgan, stood over me with his hand still half-raised.
He looked satisfied.
That was the worst part.
He thought he had put me back in my place.
But I was not the scared little girl who lowered her eyes anymore.
I was Lieutenant Ava Morgan, United States Navy.
So I did not cry.
I did not touch my face.
I only looked up at him and said,
“You’re done.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You will not speak to me that way.”
I almost smiled.
He still thought this was his room.
He still thought this family belonged to him.
But then Mr. Callahan, my grandfather’s attorney, slowly closed the will binder.
The soft thud silenced everyone.
May you like
He looked at my father and asked,
“Mr. Morgan, do you know who actually owns the fourteen-million-dollar mansion you currently live in?”
