That night, my father returned to his study, still convinced that I had somehow run away.
To support his belief, he even pulled up footage from the villa’s surveillance cameras.
There were no cameras inside the house, but the exterior was covered. Every corner outside the villa was monitored. If anyone tried to enter or leave, it would be caught on camera.
The footage left no room for doubt–I hadn’t left the house since being locked in the closet.
“That’s not possible!” he bellowed, hurling the laptop against the wall. It shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the floor.
“She must’ve tampered with the footage! She’s smart, isn’t she? Of course, she’s capable of something like this!
“I’ve never met someone so unfilial!”
As if his tantrum weren’t enough, he grabbed an ashtray and hurled it against the wall as well.
Just then, Wendy walked in with a glass of milk, only to freeze in shock as the ashtray shattered inches from her. The glass slipped from her hands, spilling milk across the floor.
Instantly, he rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms.
“Shh. It’s alright, Wendy. Shh.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just so angry that Jennifer had run away instead of apologizing to you.
