The Art of Hating You
Her heart raced as she awaited her daughter’s response, praying for some semblance of reassurance.
Sara looked up at her mother, tears welling in her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was all my fault, Mom. Austin had nothing to do with this.” She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “On our business trip to New York, we had a small argument. When we stopped at a gas station, I saw he was not in the car, and his phone rang. It was his dad. I picked up the call and… I lied. I said, "I was his girlfriend." He told me so many times to clear up this misunderstanding, but...after seeing you all happy, I could not hurt you all.”