At two o’clock in the morning, a faint creak woke me. Years of military training had sharpened my instincts. I reached for the lamp and switched it on.
The sight before me stole the air from my lungs.
My closet stood open.
All four garment bags had been unzipped.
And every dress was destroyed.
The satin gown had been slashed from top to bottom. The delicate lace dress hung in torn strips. The chiffon and silk gowns looked as if they had been fed through a shredder.
Standing in the middle of the room was my father, gripping a pair of fabric scissors.
My mother stood behind him.
Tyler leaned against the doorway, smiling.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
Frank tossed the scissors onto my dresser.
“You needed a reminder,” he said coldly. “You’re not better than this family just because you wear a uniform.”
Tyler laughed.
read more in next page
