Danilo
"You sure you don't want to come with us?"
Pa stood in the doorway of my study in his faded football jersey, denim jeans, and those gold lucky cowboy boots he swore brought wins. The house was loud downstairs. Bunky was butchering some country song in the kitchen, Pai was laughing too hard at it, and Daniel was hollering about parking at the stadium even though it was security's stress. Game day. The whole house had that buzz in it.
I did not.
I ran a hand through my hair and came away with a clump of it in my palm. I wasn't sure if it was from scrubbing my scalp too hard in the shower this morning, or if the stress had finally started eating me alive from the inside out.
Three weeks. That's how long Kolli had dragged me through a field of jagged, rusted nails. Lawyers. Papers. Threats about the Pereira assets. And then yesterday he turned around, threw my money back in my face, and demanded properties only. And an increase in his monthly alimony.
