Gardenias And His Last Goodbye

Clemen

k and trembling. I spent hours hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving until my throat was raw. Online searches confirmed my fear

d vast. I would often collapse on the small sofa, the world spinning, prayi

for a moment of reprieve, and sank back onto

y, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly in plac

yes blazing, and threw a stack of glossy photographs o

king to Casey. Another photo showed Casey holding my hand. "What were you doing at the hospi

hirt. His grip tightened, cutting off my breath. My head swam, my vi

ace inches from mine. "What w

tling sound, my throat burn

tumbled back, clutching my throat, my lungs burning. I reached for the glass

y pulled over myself. He ripped it away. Beneath it, tucked carelessl

blurry image. His face was a thundercloud. "What is this?" he

stronger than I felt. My reflection in the small mirror beside me showed a gaunt, t

y voice steady despite the trem

"Mine? Don't insult me, Elana. We haven't been 'together' since... that night. And even then, it was a mistake. A drunken lapse in judgment." Hi

child," he spat, his words like acid, "is not mine. My

humiliation, all the neglect, all the pain coalesced into a single, explosive force. My

his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

ember." My voice dropped to a whisper, laced with venom. "And what about you, Franco? Comi

o play that game? Fine. We're

id, the word a small, defiant roar. "I want one too. Let's end t

yer? Don't think about playing martyr. You have no leverage. You have nothing." He picked up the ultrasound rep

g shut with a finality that echoed through