A Confrontation Without Remorse
When I confronted them, I expected tears, begging, or at least a frantic lie. What I got was a cold, suffocating silence. My mother sat on the sofa, rubbing her stomach with a look of smug satisfaction that made my blood run cold.
“We didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” Mark said, his voice devoid of any real guilt. “But some things are stronger than a contract.”
He called our relationship a contract. The man who had proposed to me on a beach in Maui was now treating our three-year history like a business deal gone wrong.
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