A Life Built on Their Lies

burned behind my eyelids all night. Millions.

apartment that I now knew was a stage. Around seve

ng artist" costumes-faded jeans for my dad, a paint-smeared tunic for my mom. They looked like they had

t, tired murmur. She was carrying a greasy paper bag

Inside were two plain bagels. My

ust watched them. I felt a strange detachment,

miles away from their supposed studio. Then, my gaze landed on the refrigerator. They' d forgotten a detail in their elabor

g bonus," I said, my voice fl

aching for a mug, stopped mid-air. My father sta

vous sound. "A client gave it to us. A

aid, my voice dripping with an

d a quick, wo

vid said, his voice a little to

thought of eating anything they provided

my forehead. Her touch felt alien. I flinched away. "You don' t have a

lling a blanket over mysel

ably thought I was just being a moody teenager, upset about New

screen, and her entire demeanor changed. The fake we

r voice was warm, dripping with affection. "Did you sleep well?

em, a coldness spreading through my veins. It was the same adoring look th

ut her," she whispered into the phone. "She doesn' t suspect a thing. We' ll k

t. For

ment. I was the secret. My poverty,

, where everyone was an actor and the whole world was a set designed to deceive me. The thought wasn

chill that had settled deep in my bones. It was a cold that had nothi