“You can't expect us to stand by you and pretend that we approve of this,” her father stated flatly, his voice as cold and uncaring as the March winds that pummeled the city.
“I guess that would be too much to ask, right Dad? A little unconditional love for your daughter?” Serena replied, the thin strand of sarcasm in her tone barely covering the hurt voice of a wounded child.
“It isn't that we don't love you, Serena. We do.”
“Sure you do, Dad. Just not enough,” Serena said softly, a solitary tear threading its way, unchecked, down her cheek.