I can still see her face. That smug, rehearsed smile. Her manicured nails tapping against the polished oak table as if she was already counting the money.
She didn’t even look at me when the lawyer opened the will. She didn’t need to. She thought she’d already won.
Five months earlier, when Dad married Vanessa, I wanted to believe she loved him. She was young, beautiful, and knew how to laugh at his jokes. He was a brilliant man, but lonely after Mom passed.
I thought maybe, just maybe, she’d heal him. She called me kiddo, bought me a watch for my graduation, made lasagna on Sundays, even though she hated cooking. I let her in.
I shouldn’t have. It started small. She’d forget to tell me about family dinners, change the locks while I was at work.
Dad started repeating her phrases, little jabs about how I was still figuring my life out. Then came the night I overheard her on the phone. She didn’t whisper.
She didn’t need to. Once he’s gone, it’s all mine. The kid won’t get a cent.
Przeczytaj dalej, klikając poniższy przycisk (CZYTAJ WIĘCEJ 》)!
