Now Mar believed that she never cared for her parents. She despised them for constantly arguing and yet pretending everything was all right in her presence. She had been counting the days until she could turn eighteen and leave home.
And yet now, when she was alone, clinging on to the flotsam that had survived her sunken house, she would have given almost anything to have them back. Her beautiful but admittedly naggy mother, who always sighed in disappointment at her for not living up to her potential. Her workaholic father who never spent time home if he could help it. As parents, they were horrible at their job, but they were there.