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The Fortress at the Graveside
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The ice bucket slipped slightly, cold water splashing against my fingers.
The lie landed like a punch to the sternum.
I was the one who wired money every month. Three thousand dollars, without fail, from my officer’s pay. I was the one who took out a personal loan when hospice costs rose. I was the one eating ramen in a damp apartment while they sent flowers and took trips.
And now Darren was standing in my father’s living room, claiming my sacrifice like it was his generosity.
Something inside me snapped cleanly, without drama.
The sadness drained away, leaving clarity.
I walked back into the living room.
Vanessa turned, smiling brightly, already preparing her next barb.
“You know, Demi,” she said loudly, looping her arm through Darren’s, “Darren has been very generous. He’s willing to offer you a position at his firm.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“You could discharge,” she continued, her tone syrupy. “Be his executive assistant. Filing, scheduling, making coffee. It’s a nice job. Better than pretending to be something you’re not.”
Someone laughed.
