xis

s? Oh, my god, what happened?" It was Celeste. Her voice was lac

ike copper. I saw Celeste' s hand reach out, her manicured fingers

I pushed myself up, slowly, painfully, my head still swimming.

ion. "I was just trying to help. You always push me away. It'

sharp and demanding. "What's going on o

to Gavin' s wheelchair, her hands immediately on his shoulders, her head bowed as if in

Celeste is trying to be supportive? You're always so ungrateful." He didn't even notice

oulder. It was subtle, fleeting, but I saw it. The pure, unadulterated malice i

leste, come, let' s go. She needs to calm down." He let Celeste push his wheelchair away, not once glancing bac

ed to the wall. It was a simple picture: a stick figure family holding hands, a bright sun in the corner,

ted us all to be happy. A fresh wave of pain, sharp and suffocati

to play with. He' d sit by the window, watching the neighborhood children laugh and chase

a small bag of expensive gummy candies. It was a rare treat, somethin

m to Celeste, who picked out a few of the brightest pieces with a delicate hand, barely looking at him. Leo, ever so sweet, had carefully divid

sick man, believing his aunt was a kind, supportive figure. He died for their lies. He died running to

Celeste wishing for Leo to be gone. Gavin's chilling agreemen

buried my face in his pillow, the tears that had been held back by shock now streaming dow

f I was still alive. They were probably together, in their room, just like they always were. The "rehab ses

urishing company. And then, Celeste, stepping in, "selflessly" offering to care for her "ailing" brot

ng toilets, getting drenched in rain, they were here. In t

ly. It was transferred. All of it. To Celeste. She owned it now. The tech empire

ogether. In this house. Probably in Gavin's bed. While my son was taking his last, agonizing breat

. My grief turned into a burning inferno. They