Please, call me Auntie
She’s exactly where she always is, poised, composed, a queen on a throne no one voted her into.
Leon’s wife, my architect, is the one who has been my sponsor since my mom went to jail.
“You look troubled,” she says without looking up from her tea.
“Cut the act,” I snapped. “You used me?!”
Her hand stills, just for a second. Then she sets the cup down carefully, like the world hasn’t just shifted beneath us.
“So,” she says softly. “You’ve finally found the truth, how?”
I weave the phone in her face. “Someone just called me and told me I was just a pawn,” I laugh. “I thought it was a joke, but things make sense in how easy it was for me to get into a house.”
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