Fighting back tears, I carried him to the Farley home. What we found: Justin, Brooklyn, and her son, laughing together like a perfect family.
My son stopped breathing before we left the gate.
I drank the rat poison I'd bought weeks earlier, tears streaming as I chased my son into the dark.
My last thought: If there's a next life, I'll never crave a man's love again. I only ask that my son lives.
I woke gasping, my pillow soaked with cold tears.
My son had already left for school. I forced myself up, washed my face, and rushed to the Cultural Troupe.
Today they'd announce the new lead dancer.
When the results were posted, silence fell.
The lead went to Brooklyn Simmons—a woman who hadn't attended a single rehearsal.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a modest, sickeningly sweet smile.
"I'm so sorry, Ava. I was just so bored at home. Justin wanted me to get out more, so he donated fifty pounds of rice, flour, and oil to the troupe..."
"So what if you have connections?" Daisy Abbott stepped forward, face flushed. "Ava dances circles around you! You're not even in the same league!"
Daisy wanted to scream for justice, but I grabbed her arm.
I was calm. Far calmer than anyone expected.