My parents threw me out at nineteen because I wouldn’t end my pregnancy. Ten years later I drove back with my son and knocked on the same door and I finally told them who his father was.

the thing that blew the room apart, and I have gone over those words about four thousand times since.

I said: and if I do, it won’t just be me it happens to. It’ll be all of us.

My father got up so fast his chair went back into the wall and knocked a picture crooked.

He said: don’t play games with us. As long as you live under my roof you live by my rules.

He said: either you get rid of it, or you get out.

I said: Dad, please. I can’t explain now, but one day you’ll understand—

He said: get out.

I said: Dad—

And he said: now.

Less than an hour later I was standing on that porch with a holdall and about ninety dollars.

My mother stayed behind the screen door, crying quietly, with her hand on the frame.

She never once tried to