Daddy was standing in the back corner of her room, holding a sledgehammer, and he smiled at her. Half of the back wall was already down. He still had on his blue work pants and boots but had taken off his work shirt and was in a white T-shirt that was damp with sweat, stained yellow around the collar and under the arms, so worn it was practically see-through. She could see his wiry chest hair curled underneath it.

She hated him just then. Hated that he was a man who could do something like this. Who could betray her in such a huge, devastating way.

“Hey, Ollie Girl,” he said, smiling at her in an isn’t this a nice surprise sort of way.

All the spit in her mouth dried up. She felt like Daddy had hit her with the sledge, torn her right open and exposed her insides.

“Grab a pry bar and give me a hand,” he said.

She worked to steady her breathing. To not freak out and start screaming or, worse, lose it completely and start bawling like a little kid. The room seemed to tilt and glow, everything growing brighter. She thought of that stupid old expression about being so mad you saw red and understood it now. Understood that fury brought its own fire with it, tinting the world around you.

“But you said we would finish the living room first.” She choked the words out, eyes getting blurry with tears she was trying so hard to keep back. “I told you I didn’t want my room changed! I’m happy with it the way it is.”

He blinked at her from behind his scratched plastic safety goggles, his blue eyes bloodshot, with dark bags under them. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a week, a haunted man.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise. I thought you wanted a nicer room.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Is it so wrong?” Daddy asked. “For me to want my best girl to have the best room?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t speak. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she would either yell or start to full-on cry. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Why did he never, ever listen to her?

Was this why Mama had left?

Had he not listened to Mama, either? Just ignored everything she said, everything she asked for?

She rubbed at her eyes, clenched her jaw. Stared at the sledgehammer in her father’s hand, willing him to drop it. Concentrating with all her might. She wanted him to drop it and for it to fall on his toes, crush them, break them maybe. She wanted him to feel pain, to be shocked by it.

Then, as she watched, the heavy hammer slipped out of Daddy’s grasp, dropping to the floor with a thud, just missing the toe of his right work boot. He paid no attention.