Dad came home less and less.When he did, he went straight upstairs.Mom didn't wait up for him anymore.She didn't cry either.Before, every time Dad came home late, Mom would sit on the couch waiting till two in the morning.Soon as he walked in she'd ask where he'd been, voice shaking, eyes red.He'd get sick of it, smash a glass, call her paranoid.Mom would crouch on the floor picking up the pieces, crying while she did it.But now Mom didn't wait.She went to bed on time and took her pills on time.She made a lot of phone calls. There were papers all over the dining table.That evening, Dad came back with his arm around Fiona.Both their faces were flushed, like they'd been drinking.Mom was on the couch. The tea in front of her had gone cold hours ago.When Dad saw her, his arm stiffened around Fiona's shoulder.He recovered fast, and even managed to sound annoyed."Helena, if you've got something to say, just say it. Don't make a scene in front of the kid."I was tucked around
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