ndemnation, Brittany's crocodile tears, the murmuring hostility of the cr

his was when

sappointment he showed now, but with a raw fury. He hadn't given me a chance to speak. He'd grabbed my arm, his

tage, the humiliation burning thro

meme for artistic theft. My parents... God, their faces. The shame in their eyes, not of me, but for me, for the cruelty I endured. T

ptiness of whatever ca

integrity." Brittany, the "wronged ingenue," became America's new country sweetheart, her career skyrocketing on the back of *my* son

was acid

ld be no crumbling.

my voice for

e stretched. The director in the control booth w

rama. Just not the