His Wedding, Her Secret Grave

eal life, a fierce purpose to find justice for my mother, burned deep within me, a silent ember waiting to ignite. But

ommanded me to serve them champagne, and paid me for "services rendered"-a crude hundred-dollar bill for my "trouble." Each interaction w

his failing company, anonymously donated bone marrow to save his life when he was desperately ill, or trekked alone through a blizzard to r

ped into such consuming hatred? The agonizing injustice was a constant ache, a wound that never hea

faked my own death. I erased Maya Rodriguez from existence, hoping he could finally be safe and truly free. But freedom, I l