dollars, all of it-too late. The doctor' s voice was a distant hum, drowned out by the roaring in my ears. Grief, sharp and sudden, tore through me, leaving me gasping fo

ars, my body wracked with sobs that tore at my throat. I

t of my grief. I fumbled for it, my vision bl

What exactly do you think you're doing? You can't just text 'we're done' to a man like Arthur Valentine. Thi

nal?" I shrieked into the phone, my voice hoarse from crying. "Unprofessional?! M

wever, I didn't receive any notification of a breakup prior to your text. And as for your mother, I was under the impression her cond

ratic" behavior to be managed. A hysterical female to be dealt with. The urge to scream, to smash the phone, to physically reach through th

Because of the delay. Because of your 'processing.' Because Arthur c

teel in her tone. "Arthur has always been incredibly generous. And the

? You think my mother's life was a personal whim?

strength and our resources. There had been periods of remission, false dawns of hope, but the last relapse had been devastating. The doct

eager savings, pleaded with friends, even considered selling off the fe

ove absurdly expensive cars, who wore custom-made suits that cost more than my annual sala

ch attempt. He'd always been "busy," always "in a meeting," alway

ds," he'd said once, his voice smooth and rehearsed. "Deanne is working

ragged her feet, asked for endless documentation, and always, always found another reason for delay. "The committe

mother didn't h

n, Ms. Burch. Her condition is deteriorating rapidly. The spe

s armed security, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had crashed into his office, expecting to plead, to beg, to mak

k of cold fury. "Alyssa! What is

arted, my voice cracking.

ou, Deanne is handling it. Do you understand? I am not your personal ATM. This is wildly inap

the middle of his pristine office, tears streaming down my face. He had ignored me, turning his attention back to his monit

hollow, bitter laugh escaped me. I had wiped my eyes, a single, defiant tear tracin

ives, and burying the woman who had nurtured me, loved me unconditionally. Every night, I cried myself to slee

overlap. He never brought me to his elite gatherings, and he certainly never bothered to meet my working-class friends or family. He was too important, too

slightly, scrolled through my contacts until I found Glenn's number. A new number, a new life. "Glenn," I whispered, the wor

ed with a quiet strength that felt lik

s apartment, once a symbol of my imagined future, now felt like a tomb. As I stepped through the front door, the famili

me. Even now, a ghost of that longing flickered, a cruel whisper of what I had once believed was love. He moved, turning slightly, and the afternoon sun caught the curve of

hallway. "Arthur, darling, are you ready for d

dress, the one Arthur had bought me for our anniversary last year, the one I had saved for special occasions. It hugged her curves,

placed by the searing betrayal in front of me. The silk dress, a symbol of his

ough the heavy silence. "I seem to have interrupted some

idn' t respond. She simply wrapped th

grabbed the handle, the anger a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

ccusatory. He strode towards me, grabbing my arm, his fing

Arthur? I'm leaving. Permanently." My eyes flickered to De

his hair. "Deanne was just helping me with a wardrobe consulta

ed at Deanne. Her neck was flushed, a faint red mark visible just below

y lips. "Because that hickey on Deanne's neck tells a different st

ur, burying her face in his shoulder, letting out a small, wounded whimper. "Arthur, don't let her sa

sabotage-it all boiled to the surface. I wanted to tell her, to tell Arthur, exactly wh

ing baseless accusations." He stepped between us, shielding Deanne. "You're always so dramatic. Always making a scene. Frankly, it's exhausting. If you can't be s

ss, felt a fresh, agonizing crack. It wasn't just the job, it was the final

? After everything? You're a fool, Arthur Valentine. A cold, calculating fool." My eyes darted to Deanne, still clinging to him

lmost detached, but the words were razor sharp. "You think y