Father, Please.
Martha sat at the far end, on my left, a sneer already etched into her face, she looked every bit the satan’s spawn I know she was.
“Miss Patterson?”
“That is none of your concern, let us move on with the reading.” I say plopping down on the opposite side of Martha.
“It is, the will should not be read in front of a stranger.”
“Why is Martha here?”
“It is Jazz.” She snipes,
“Look, I don’t have time to play pretend, he is not a stranger, move along please.”
The lawyer sighed,
“You are scared.” Martha says with her mouth curved into what she thinks is an intimidating smile, but she only looks like she is trying to poop.