Delilah’s Point of View The morning light bled through the heavy curtains, too bright for my liking, too cheerful for a day I wanted to drown in silence. If the world had any sense of justice, I would be at a funeral today, standing over my sister’s grave, laying roses on the coffin of the only person who had ever truly known me. Instead, I am expected to plaster on a smile, wear a perfect dress, and attend a hospital reopening event as if the past had not buried me alive already. I dragged myself from bed, already exhausted by the thought of it all. Still, appearances mattered more than everything to Jackson for his image . Jackson’s betrayal had been whispered through the halls of society, the news of his affair staining our family like blood on snow. If I did not look perfect, if I did not scream I am Jackson Jack’s wife, and we are still together, then what would I be? Nothing. Less than nothing. So this appearance at the hospital is also
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