Millicent POV
I was still on the linoleum floor of the hospital corridor, which was so cold, a shocking, grimy ice against my cheek. I’d sunk there, a bundle of silk and shame, after my parents’ words had weakened me. Their voices, usually a source of comfort, had been whips of pure disdain.
“Associating with filth, Millicent! Look where it’s gotten you! Look what you’ve done to Pascal!”
Their words echoed, each one a piece of broken glass grinding deeper. I had brought this upon us. My naivety, my stupid, bleeding heart that gave a feeling to a Mafia who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, had led to this. Pascal was lying in a bed, broken and bandaged, because of a mistake. And my parents… they hadn’t offered a shoulder. They’d offered a verdict: Guilty.
A sob tore from my throat, raw
