“But where am I supposed to go?” The question came out small, bewildered.

Jonathan had shrugged, the gesture dismissive in its casualness. “You could stay with Aunt Helen for a while. Or there’s always that garage Dad left you.” His laugh had a cruel edge I’d never heard before. “Though why he left you that dump is beyond me. What are you going to do with it? Open a mechanic shop at your age?”

I’d felt something shift inside me then, some foundation crumbling.

“Jonathan, this is my home. Your father and I—”

“It’s not your home anymore.” He’d cut me off, his voice hardening. “It’s mine. Dad made that perfectly clear.”

I’d reached for the back of a chair to steady myself. “I need time to find somewhere to go. Surely you don’t expect me to leave tonight.”

That’s when he’d said it. The words that would echo in my mind for hours afterward as I drove aimlessly around the city, eventually finding myself on an unfamiliar street in the industrial district, staring at a dilapidated garage with a padlock on its door.