stranger like I’m some unwanted burden?”
Her mother reached out to her. “Sam, dear, don’t—”
“Don’t what, Mom?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Argue? Sorry. I can’t help it.” She dashed away a tear trickling down her cheek. A spasm suddenly shook her left leg and she sat down hard on the couch.
Her mother gave a little gasp, but stayed rooted at Jackson’s side.
“Are you happy now?” her father demanded. “You’ve upset your mother.”
A surge of anger stopped Sam’s tears. “What about me? Are you concerned that I might be upset? That you’ve made these decisions without talking to me? I should have a say about what happens in my life.”
Lawrence’s chest puffed out as he took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but the brutal truth is that since your accident—”
“Attack, Dad,” she broke in, “I was attacked.”
“Accident,” he continued with emphasis, “we don’t believe you’re capable of knowing what’s best for you.” He took a long pause before resuming, his eyes wandering to the side of her head before returning to her face. “You’ve been making poor choices beginning with that day.” He shook his head. “We can’t allow them to continue.”
Sam’s forehead creased in a deep frown. “I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘that day’?”
A heavy silence fell in the room while the clock ticked away the seconds. Finally her father spoke. “You should’ve never stayed late at the agency. After Dan’s car was broken into and everything of value stolen, both Jackson and I cautioned you about being alone in the parking garage, but you didn’t listen.”
At her father’s words, Sam felt the tears gathering again. No, she wasn’t going to cry . Slowly she rose to her feet. “Have you always blamed me for what happened, Dad?” she asked in a flat voice.
Her mother rushed to her side and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, Sam, your father doesn’t blame you.” Her eyes shot to Lawrence. “Do you, dear?”
He didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, shaking off her mother’s arm and limping toward the hallway.
“Wait, Sam, don’t leave,” her mother called out. “Let’s forget this unpleasantness. Let’s sit down and have a nice meal . . . We’ll talk about this later.”
As she reached the door to the bedroom, she heard her father.
“Let her go, Nancy.”
Turning, she called over her shoulder, “Yeah, Mom, let it go. Have another mimosa,” she said, slamming the bedroom door.
Leaning against it, she let the tears fall. How long had her father blamed her for her attack? He was right—they had warned her about staying late, but she’d been working on a presentation for a difficult client at Lawrence’s request. Was he right? Was she responsible? Should she have run faster, screamed louder, fought harder?
Her hand strayed to the chunk of hair on the side of her head and she tugged at it nervously. She noticed her manicure bag lying on the dresser. Stumbling over to it, she removed the pair of scissors.
He didn’t like the way my hair looked, huh? She lifted a lock of hair and snipped off the end. Then another and another. Soon the dresser was covered with a mass of auburn hair.
The bedroom door suddenly flew open. Her hand paused as she saw Jackson’s horrified reflection in the mirror.
“What are you doing!”
Chapter Five
A t the sound of Jackson’s cry, both her father and mother came rushing down the hallway. Three shocked faces stared back at her in the mirror. Her father’s mouth tightened in a grim line and her mother’s eyes filled with tears as she began to cry softly. Jackson simply looked sad.
Her father placed a comforting hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Nancy, I’ll handle this. You and Jackson go ahead and start brunch. Samantha and I will join you in a little bit.” He turned his attention to Sam. “Let’s go out on the deck. I want to talk to
Jack Norris, Virginia Messina