Many nights, Catherine skipped dinner completely, claiming she was not hungry so Annie could have a proper lunch for school.
When she became sick, she always hid it, telling her daughter it was only exhaustion from working too much.
“Mom always told me you were busy building a better future for us,” Annie whispered, leaning against her father’s arm.
“She never once said a bad word about you, even when we had nothing.”
Victor squeezed his eyes shut, the weight of those words cutting deeper than any accusation.
He had foolishly believed the poison his mother had fed him, never asking why his wife would leave without a single conversation.
When they reached the apartment complex, a tired-looking neighbor stepped out of the hallway and glared at Victor.
“Are you the father?” she asked, her voice full of judgment.
“You finally decided to show your face after all this time?”
