The morning sun was sharp and bright, pouring through the dining room windows and hitting the silverware. It looked like a normal morning. To anyone else, we looked like a perfect, high-class family. But to me, the air felt like it was charged with electricity. I sat there, picking at my fruit, watching the two people across from me.
My mother was already dressed in a sharp blazer, her hair pinned back perfectly. She was scrolling through her phone, probably checking messages from Sterling.
Looking at her now, you would never guess she was the woman I saw screaming against a guest-room bed two nights ago. She looked so innocent. So untouchable. So f*****g faithful.
Vaughan sat at the head of the table. He was a wall of granite. He had his newspaper spread out, a cup of black coffee stea
