Andrew Hogan-Higgs

My stepfather, Vance, struggled through the front door, his muscles taught, from a long day at the auto-shop. He walked by glaring at me, piercing my every fiber with contempt and hatred. He was jealous of what I had, he was jealous of the love that I stole away from him. He slowly sauntered through the living room, toward the kitchen eager to taste the meal my mother had prepared for him. Th…