Tyler’s car was there.
Melissa’s, too.
When I stepped inside, everyone was waiting in the living room.
It felt like an ambush.
Mom was sitting on the couch, tissue in hand, pretending to cry.
Dad stood near the fireplace like he was presiding over a courtroom.
Melissa sat next to Mom, arms crossed, already ready to attack.
“Felix,” Dad said coldly. “Sit.”
I stayed standing.
“This has gone far enough,” he continued. “Your little stunt online humiliated this family. Do you realize how many people have seen that photo? People from church are talking. The neighbors are talking. Your mother can’t even go to the store without someone bringing it up.”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe now she knows what it feels like to be embarrassed in front of others.”
“Don’t be cruel,” Melissa snapped.
I turned to her.
“Cruel? You all laughed while my son sat there pretending he wasn’t hurt. And you think I’m cruel?”
