TRISHA
After what my mother had said about Tony, I couldn’t stop myself from looking him up. My fingers trembled as I pulled out my phone and typed his name into the search bar, the same way I had years ago, when she first told me at seventeen that I was going to marry him.
The image that appeared made my stomach turn.
There he was. A boy with acne and thick-rimmed glasses, his body slightly twisted by cerebral palsy. I remembered how it had felt back then, that sharp, sinking nausea, the disbelief that my mother could even consider pairing me with someone like that.
Now, the answer felt clearer.
The coven.
I scrolled through his i********:, noticing how empty it was. Everything had been wiped. Only a single photo remained, a recent selfie. I leaned closer, studying it.
No glasses.
