“I know you saw the tickets,” he said. Smirk like he was telling a joke. “Limited to six, Doris. Me. Elizabeth. Lester. Loisa. The twins. That’s it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“You’re deliberately excluded.”
His voice dropped to a dead calm. Like ice melting on concrete.
“When I get back, I’ll buy you a diamond set. Take you to Hawaii.”
Like those words were supposed to be a consolation prize. Then he turned, walked out without another glance. Just like I was air.
I stood there a moment, silent. Staring at the door he just closed behind him like a coffin.
The next morning, I moved through the motions in the kitchen. Omelets, bacon, toast — the smell sharp and mocking.
From the living room, I heard the twins. Laughing, shouting like it was Christmas morning.
“This cruise is the biggest ever!” Lester yelled. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
Their voices were bright, innocent. And cruel.
Then Elizabeth showed up, arms loaded with takeout bags.