I never thought a text from my dad would derail my whole week—or that I’d end up crashing a seven-year-old’s birthday party with my grandpa as my chauffeur. Yet here we are.
My name is Marissa, and I’m nineteen years old, a college freshman finishing up my first year. I live about twenty minutes from my dad’s house, close enough to visit on weekends or whenever I’ve got a break from school.
Or at least, I used to.
Because lately, things don’t feel the same. They haven’t, not since Dad remarried.
