“You mean, you don’t know?” My mother said. She looked at me, apologetically, then turned towards my father and gave him a bitter grimace. “You never told her?” she accused.

“I never told her? She lived with you!”
“But this is the kind of thing a girl should hear from her father!”
“There is no reason why I should have to tell her that, Roberta, she’s your daughter!”
“Well, she’s your daughter, too, and my father told me when I was child.”
“It was a different generation! Don’t you realize how old you are?”
“ ENOUGH !” I screamed. My parents both stopped bickering and looked at my tear streaked, reddened face.

“Darling. I’m sorry. Were we fighting in front of you again?” My mother asked.

“YES.” I said, taking in a deep breath and trying to calm down. “Can you please stop blaming each other for everything, long enough to tell me what’s going on?”

“You do it, Francis.” she said, sternly. He sighed, and took my hand.

“Please don’t be alarmed, you’re a super hero.”