He Let My Parents Die,Then He Died for Me

ly

empty space in t

my hands from shaking. My mother had spent three months knitting it, sq

ne screen, opening a socia

thing to pop up. She had pos

: "Only the best

unning around her boutique. The dog w

tricate cable-knit stitch my mother had so painstakingl

rce my trembling legs to move. I grabbed my keys and stumbled out into the storm. Marco, my driver, took one look at my fac

c pet boutique clanged with a tinny, di

of a nauseating blend of expensive perfume and sugary anima

ter of the room. Silas sat beside h

er spoon. He scooped a piec

and then Silas put the exact

h lurched

refused to hold my hand in public because of the germs. This was the Don who once fired a

had never been a medical condition. It had always been a weapon-a tool of control designed to keep m

hem, each step a

into a mask of cold authority. "What are

ed my gaze on Mia. "

n a perfect imitation of an innocent victim. "B

the counter. It was wearing the sh

said, my voice dangerously low. "You are a cheap mistr

ped and stared. Whispers br

She turned to Silas, tears welling in her eyes. "

s put that old rag in the estate's donation bin. I saw it when I visited the

blocked my view of Mia. He looked

ic," he sneered. "You are embarrassing yourself and thi

ed at the hands that had promised to protect me, now s

ther i

words tore out of my thr

car crash. She can neve

Don looked paralyzed. His throat worked, a hard, convulsive swallow, and I watched something flicker behind his eyes-rec

ved my shoulder. "You're lying! You're just tr

ue yarn off its back, and threw it direct

Take you

ed my ears. I lunged at Mia

ch her, a heavy ha

f the slap echoed thro

per flooded my mouth. I stumbled back, my hand slappin

urgeries with inhuman precision. The hand that had once cupped my face on our wedding night and promis

He needed to maintain his authori

her own store," Silas spat, po

n panic. "You would curse your own parents just to wi

ooked at the blue yarn soaking

ot say

ove it clatter with a dissonant clang. The sole of my boot skidded on a wet patch of tile, a brief, jarring slip,

shering me into the waiting car as I clutched the filthy yarn to my chest, my body shaking wit

o the estate, my body a dead we

ind as I went into the bedroom and pu

ing the white scraps flutter

ly was a luxury Si

aughter or a discarded wife. I wa

o the ground, and make sure ever

y who would help