The Choice

I stood in my room, surveying the damage. My closet had been ripped apart. Clothes were strewn all over the floor. My mattress was also across the floor. My makeup and hair tools swiped off my dresser, scattered across the carpet. It looked like I had been ransacked and robbed.

But it was just my father.

He stood in the doorway, still wearing his olive Army flight suit, his face dark with anger. He’d gone through my…