“You used my talent, my image, my heart—and called it love.You convinced me you were looking out for me when all you ever gave a shit about was your wallet.”
A sob breaks through my ribs.I shove it down.But another one builds, and another.
“You made me part of it,” I whisper, broken now.“You used me to sell your lies.And I let you.Because I wanted to believe there was something real left in you.”
I step closer, kneeling so I can look him in the face.
“But there’s nothing real in you.Not anymore.Just rot.Just control.Just a man who’s too fucking proud to admit he ruined the very people who loved him.”
I’m crying now—no hiding it.The kind of crying that comes from the soul’s center, where all the wounds live.It’s ugly.Loud.Desperate.But I don’t stop.
“I hate you,” I gasp, voice hoarse.“I hate you for what you did to him.I hate you for making me believe I was lucky to be your daughter.I hate you for convincing me that love looks like sacrifice and silence and swallowing your pain so no one else chokes on it.”
He tries to shift.Tries to speak.But I don’t give him the fucking space.
“You don’t get to respond.You don’t get to say sorry.You had years to make this right, and you chose this.You chose power.You chose an image.You chose to destroy people for the sake of legacy.”
I stand slowly, wiping my face, but the tears keep coming.
“You don’t get to fix this with a will, an inheritance, or some manufactured letter from your bed.You don’t get to be the misunderstood genius in your final act.You burned us, and now we’re left picking through the wreckage.”
His eyes glisten, but I don’t know if it’s understanding or just nerves misfiring.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
I step back, shaking.
“I came here for one reason,” I say, voice shaking but sure.“To tell you I know.I see you clearly.And I don’t want to see you ever again.”
I leave him there, sun spilling across his withered hands like some cruel spotlight.
And I don’t look back.
ChapterNinety
Kit
August 21st, 1997
The phone rings like a scream in the dark.
It cuts through sleep like a blade—brutal, jarring.A sound that doesn’t belong in the stillness.
My heart crashes against my ribs, ribs that suddenly feel too small for the rest of me.I jolt, gasping like I’ve surfaced too fast from a deep dive.The room’s still dark but spinning—subtle, wrong.Like the world's axis has tilted, and no one warned me.
I reach for the phone on the bedside table, my hand knocking over a glass of water.It splashes over wood and my books, but I don’t stop.Don’t care.
I answer mid-breath, voice groggy.“Hello?”
There’s silence.The kind that vibrates with something awful.Just for a beat.Maybe two.
Then Bernice speaks, and her voice is brittle, “Kit ...”
My gut drops.My mind kicks into gear, sluggish but alert in a way that feels wrong.What happened?I sit upright, sheets tangled around my legs like restraints.
“Yeah?”My voice climbs a notch.“Is everything okay?”I try to inject annoyance into it—some false bravado.“If this is about one of the starlets, I swear I’m changing my identity and relocating to a planet without telephones.”
She doesn’t laugh.Doesn’t even pretend.
