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But the thought of facing him, of looking into his eyes and hearing whatever he has to say... It's too much.

I’ll break apart in front of him, and I can’t let that happen.

I lower the glass and glance at my dad again. His eyes are still on me, sharp and searching, and I hate it.

I hate how perceptive he is, how he always knows when something’s wrong. If he ever finds out what happened between me a