ud. He threw his custom-tailored jacket onto a Louis XIV chair, the fabric whispering i

t did the doctor say?

loosening

ot of them. Just trying to sell me thei

ving room and collapse

hortcake from the fridge. And a Coke

t of hesitation. It was a faint, weak

ve had a stressful day

but gentle, explaining the immediate danger of a sugar-loaded dessert for a newly diagnosed diabetic. I would have presented the grim numbers from his bloodwork, quoted the doctor's warnings, and s

id nothing. I

are you staring at? You loo

I said, my voic

of whipped cream. A tall glass of Coca-Cola, fizzing with bubbles, sat beside it on the silve

u are, m

his mouth. He chewed with an aggressive, defiant energy, his eyes locked on me. It w

g. They look at a man like me, successful, powerful, and they want to knock me down a peg. '

habits of a particularly stubborn, self-destructive species. Every word, every action was

my stomach. The hope that, eventually, they would see I was only trying to help. That hope had been a fool's g

n drained the glass of soda. He leaned back

tter, even. All that

d smile. "I'm glad you're

moment, searching for the disapproval he expected, the fight he craved. Finding none, he j

on was made. I had tried to be their savior and they had crucified me for