They Won’t Let Me Go
For my birthday, my husband, Don Damien, gave me his dead wife’s pearls.
I wore them to the dinner party. My enraged stepson, Leo, doused me in red wine.
I became the laughingstock of the party.
“You whore,” he hissed. “You think wearing my mother’s jewelry makes you her?”
He stared at me, his eyes cold as ice. Then he screamed. "Get out of my house."
But his mother died when he was a baby. I raised him.
Someone had whispered poison in his ear. They told him I was the one who killed his mother. Now he thinks I'm a scheming bitch who tricked his father.
And his father? My husband?
He never saw me. He only saw Krista’s ghost.
My heart didn't break. It shattered.
They didn't love me. They didn't even care. So I walked.
Then why, after I was finally gone, did they come crawling back, begging me to return?