He invited her to dinner, the woman he'd left my mother for. She interrogated me at the table, my eyes glancing at her breasts, with my father tired and oblivious. She yearned for my acceptance, but I wanted something in return.

After he went to bed, we shared a bottle of wine that loosened us, and our morals, turning flirting to eroticism. By the time the morning announced itself through the blinds, I had given her all the answers she craved and a bellyful of my acceptance. If she wanted to replace my mother, I had to replace my father.