I’m a hostage. He rules everyone and everything I love. My fists are shaking. He circles the hood and hops in. Somehow, he gets the truck to start on the first try. He puts his arm behind me while he reverses, and it’s all I can do not to rip it off and beat him with it. What am I going to tell the girls? No farmer’s market means no money. No phones. No hotspots. No games for Kennedy and Fallon. No music and fancy shoes for Mari. Nothing to make life bearable. Nothing to look forward to. I hate his guts.
