Chapter 8
After that day, Mom got worried about me and insisted we skip the country for a while.
Back in college, I was all about literature. With Mom forcing me to ditch work, I spent my days in the garden, writing stories. My
style got sharper, and everything I’d been through gave my words this raw, emotional punch. Once published, they blew up with
praise.
I figured that was it–Harvey and I were done for good. But then one day, my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.
It was Harvey’s mother, Beatrice.
She never liked me. From the moment Harvey and I started dating, she made it obvious. I still remember our third Christmas
together–Harvey brought me home for the holidays, and she looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. Right in front of the staff, she
ordered me to pour her tea.
The teapot was one of Harvey’s prized collectibles–tiny, fragile, and way too hot. Still clueless about his revenge plan, I grabbed
it barehanded and burned myself, a blister popping up instantly. In my panic, some tea splashed on Beatrice’s hand.
She lost it. In the dead of winter, without giving me time to grab shoes, she threw me out. I walked barefoot for miles to get out of
that fancy neighborhood, my feet.shredded and bleeding from the gravel.
The next day, when she saw my bandaged feet, she just wrinkled her nose.
