DENISE
The morning sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of the dining area, throwing long, golden stripes across the large mahogany table.
To anyone else, it was a picture-perfect scene of a united family. But to me, it felt like sitting in a room full of unexploded landmines. My body felt heavy, my skin still tingling with a sensitivity that made the material of my robe feel like sandpaper against my thighs. I felt that dull ache still present in-between my thigh, a reminder of how I'd spent the previous night.
My mother sat across from me, sipping her latte macchiato with a poise that made me want to scream my lungs out.
Russo, my stepfather, sat at the head of the table, his eyes buried in a ledger, his presence a dark, suffocating weight. His own coffee stayed untouched
