Realization

Walt’s voice drifted into a distance as thoughts, ideas and memories rushed into Nina’s head like ocean waves crashing through the rooms of a house. Her mind was spinning, and the room with it as she, in a period of a few seconds, first denied then realized with blinding infuriation, the younger years that had been her present life. Not the nightmarish fantasies that burned through her thoughts.
It was all she could do to release her white knuckle grip on the wooden bookcase that kept her on her feet and composed. But Nina turned around and looked at her father, pouring another glass of whatever toxin he was drinking. Still talking, lamenting about how grievous he was to lose his beloved wife. It was bizarre to see him this way. She had never seen him so weak and emotional. Beneath the whole hatred that seemed to be consuming every cell in her body at that moment, Nina felt some pleasure at seeing him hurting, however real that hurt may have been.
“I’m not sure why you called me. Susan wasn’t my mother,” Nina interrupted again. Her words were a dam on the rage that was turning, just beneath the surface.