The Altar, The Lies, His Penance

Housto

ns. Hatred for Carter, for abandoning me. Hatred for Camilla, for always

y ounce of my shattered energy, hiring a small-time journalist, feeding him every sordid deta

in a protective cocoon of their influence, erasing any hint of scandal. My desperate attempts to expose them were nothing bu

bed, a stranger's body beside me. My mother stood over me, her face grim. "You've caused enough trouble, Emery," sh

bed. She thought it would force me into submission, into accepting my fate, into becoming

report, not against the man my mother forced on me, but against her. I wanted her to see the inside of a prison cell. My mother, the

ly destroyed everything in sight. Papers scattered, computers crashed, glass shattered. His business, built on flimsy foundations of shady deals and backroo

iscuous woman who had cheated on her fiancé, gotten pregnant, and then, in a fit of rage, tried to destroy two reputable families. The story spread like wildfire, pa

te for answers, for closure. But he was a ghost, vanished into the protective embrace of his family. No one would help me. No one would

irth to Leo in a haze of despair, holding him, looking at his innocent face, a fresh wave of agony washing over me. I tried to end it all, more than once. Three times, I sta

up with. He was the one who paid my hospital bills. He was always th

ing. Death was meaningless. It wouldn't bring me peace; it would only bring more pain to Leo, a pai

everything, twisting his quiet support into another form of captivity. I pushed him, tested him, lashed out at him with every ounce of my remaining venom. I watched him flinch, watched hi

year old, his eyes wide and brown, just like Joel' s. He looke

ew year. A chance to be someone else. Someone better. I remembered the girl I used to be, the ambitious,

tric old woman, took a chance. For four years, I cleaned, I learned, I became a licensed animal mortician. I found a strange solace in preparing the small, beloved

en, I saw Carter again. And for a split second, the old, raw hatred flared. I still wanted to douse him in a pot of boiling oil. But t

or the Barrys. I