Chapter Thirty-Three
Someone moves past me. My father hobbles closer, an expression of deep fury on his face. “What the hell is that?”
I can’t doubt the sincerity of his outrage, but it doesn’t help to know my father wasn’t involved. Someone had a front-row seat to my room—when I believed I was alone, when I changed my clothes. When I touched myself in bed at night.
This is what my mother sensed, the darkness closing in around her.
And now it’s around me, strangling me where I stand. My stomach flips over, the champagne roiling like lava inside. Daddy leans against the wall, staring into the gaping hole.
“She was telling the truth,” he whispers, regret ripping through his voice.
Then it’s too much to hold back. I turn to the marble fireplace, retching. I haven’t eaten enough to fully
