I’m glad to have you here. Follow my story until the end and comment the city you’re watching from so I can see how far my story has reached. The funeral flowers were still fresh when they decided to destroy me.
I sat in Floyd’s leather chair in his home office, the same chair where he’d spent countless evenings reviewing business documents, checking emails from clients up and down the West Coast, and planning our future together. Twenty-two years of marriage, and now I was supposed to pretend that the two men standing in front of me had any right to decide my fate. Sydney, Floyd’s eldest son, wore his father’s death like an expensive suit, perfectly tailored to his advantage.
