Where There's Smoke, There's Fire (III)

I don’t know why, but I cried. When he said that, I teared up and cried, right then and there. Maybe it’s because it’s partly my fault, or maybe it’s because his children will never know who their father really was outside of the house.

“You a’right?” Denny asks. He must be one of the stereotypical truck drivers, the ones that aren’t too smart. I don’t say anything, so maybe he’ll catch on that I’m not. “Is your boyfriend dead?”

“He isn’t—wasn’t my boyfriend. Yes, he’s gone.”

“Well, now you don’t have a’ywhere to stay! Me and my wife will be happy for you to stay,” He says with a smile. His teeth are really yellow, he obviously smokes way too much. How he has a wife, I’ll never know. But that wasn’t important now. I’ve been making a lot of bad choices and would staying with this man be another? God only knows where I am now, but maybe the police can take me home.

But wait. If Dad sees me coming home with the police after almost dying in an accident he might go back to his old self. “Um, Denny?”

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