Seven years of molding myself to fit his desires are now gone. I thought back to all the times I tried to be what he wanted. Cutting my hair when he said he preferred it short. Skipping meals to fit into his ideal of beauty. Enduring painful trials alone, so he wouldn’t see me weak. But no matter how much I gave, Winona was always there between us.
“You’re strong, Ariana. You don’t need me like she does,” he’d say, using my strength as an excuse for his neglect.
The next day, I visited my mother’s grave, the air heavy with grief. I traced her name on the stone, my fingers numb against the cold granite.
As I turned to leave, Scott and Winona appeared, her hands clutching an urn. “This place is near my ,” she murmured. “If I bury my baby here, it’s like he never left.”
My jaw tightened. I wanted to avoid a confrontation, but Scott stepped into my path. “Are you following me?” he asked, his tone accusing.
“No,” I replied, my voice weary. “I’m leaving.”
Winona’s voice cut in. “My puppy died, and Scott stayed with me for the funeral. Don’t misunderstand,” she said, acting like a victim.
“Good for you,” I muttered, brushing past her.