“Saoirse . . . ,” he called after me limply. He wanted me to understand what it was like for him so I could feel sorry for him because he’d spent the last few years looking after my mother, the woman he married. The whole “in sickness and health” thing must have passed him by. He wanted me to understand why he needed to cheat on her. But in the end, his desire to avoid fighting about it was stronger.

I sought refuge at Hannah’s house for three days. He tried calling, but I ignored him. Eventually, her parents told me I had to go home, which was a bit rich considering the number of nights Hannah had spent at my house. The number of times she’d come around to my place to talk to my mum about her problems because her own parents always made her feel worse. I hadn’t really noticed that I was going to her a lot more often than she was coming round to me at that point. A few weeks later she left me.

Things thawed with Dad after a while, of course. I didn’t know how to stay angry and I didn’t know how to stop being angry and I wasn’t sure which one I wanted more. The energy it takes to keep hating someone that much is hard to sustain. But I never really forgave him. We eased into a fragile peace, but it was never the same. Before Beth, I thought Dad and I were in it together. Even though I didn’t always agree with what he thought was best, I thought at least it hurt him as much as it hurt me. After Beth I was alone.

“How about a film, then?” Dad stood, hands on hips, surveying us both and looking too pleased with himself. “We haven’t watched Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum since it came out.”

“I don’t think so,” I said coldly. “I don’t like those mental hospital ones. They’re offensive.”

“Offensive how?” Dad rolled his eyes.

“How are they not offensive? People with mental illness are inherently scary?” I said, getting annoyed.

“Maybe it’s a commentary on the mental health system causing iatrogenic harm to a traumatized population,” Dad said, clearly pleased with his big words.

“And then they die and become scary ghosts?” Beth chimed in, skeptical.

We both looked at her for a moment.

“Exactly,” I said. “Even if what you said was remotely accurate, how would making their spirits the villains be sensitive?”

“Well, what about—”