Hodg

l pain was sharp, immediate, but it was nothing compared to the cold, crushing weight in my chest. Clay had s

in the air, trembling slightly. The hypocrisy of it all was almost comical. He was the one who had gaslighted

voice a broken whisper, raw an

you were screaming at Charity, and she was... I just reacted." His words were a

or the scene I was creating. My mother, Dianne, had tears in her eyes, but they were tears of fear, not empathy. Fear for her own precarious

ng with a fragile rage. "Can't you see what he is? What h

rious, streamed down my bruised cheek. My knees buckled. I closed my eyes, a silent scream tear

Do anything you want. Just don't say you don't believe me." He fell to his knees in front of me, grabbing my hand, his grip ti

t, embarrassed by the display. But Bertha, Clay' s mothe

to comfort, but to strike. Before I could even register the movement, her ope

doing to my son? You're driving him to tears! You're making a scene! You always we

er grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

. You're making things worse. You need to calm down. Think about

n't you dare come crying to us! You want to throw away a good man like Clay? Fine! But don't expe

it. Please, don't listen to them. I'll change. I'll do anything. I'll cut off Charity, I swear.

"accidentally" left her scarf on our bed. A crimson silk scarf, smelling faintly of a perfume I didn't recognize, but which Clay had

ty from high school. He' d said it was an old photo, a reminder of his past, nothing more. But the frame

oom. "Oh, how... cozy," she'd said, a faint sneer in her voice. "Clay always said he preferred minimalist. But I suppose you have to work with what you're given, don't you?" It wasn't jus

her, enabled by him. They had been playing with me, tormenting me, for longer than I knew. My head was throbbing, my cheek stinging. But t