There was no use in trying to explain to him what happened, that much was obvious.
When Dad got that look on his face, the closed down and angry look I'd grown accustomed to over the last eight years, he was an immobile wall of temper that put Mom to shame. No, way worse. Because at least Mom's temper let her listen even when she was mad.
Dad? He just attacked everything and didn't apologize later.
"What do you think you're doing?" He stormed toward me at the same time the girls emerged from their room, their happy giggling shut down the instant they spotted Dad charging in my direction. For the briefest moment they swayed in my direction before I shook my head at them, though the warm feeling in my stomach that they thought to defend me instead of running? At eight years old and against their own father? Fuzzies inside, and love for my little sisters like I'd never experienced before.