pill, a quiet wire transfer to someone who suddenly needed to disappear, these were the currencies of my life with him. The Bradfords, Boston's old-money royalty, had

d with Sophia Hayes, his high school sweetheart, the one he always talked about with a misty, faraway lo

e pentho

in, and the air was thick, suffocating. Sophia was there, artfully tear-streaked, clutching her stomach. Lia

ugh trembling, carri

u have to

him to me, her

or me and o

ral. My sto

ook at me, his gaz

oice flat, devoid of the warm

ression unreadable, or maybe

pregnant, A

ussing a business merger, n

them to term

live here, in our penthouse. She'd have the babies. I would be t

tate, we can proceed with our wedding," he continued, as if this was a mi

he foster system, the one they'd polished up, the one wh

ld thing he' d given me years ago. It was supposed to symbolize our future, our unbreakable bond. He t

ol. "This situation requires a more permanen

and vile, referencing all the times I