⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•
She stepped closer, her voice dropping into that familiar, pleading tone she used when she wanted me to see things her way. "Do you think I wanted this?" she started, the words spilling out like a sudden gust of wind filling the quiet room.
"That someone had to die for you to have a good life? Did you really want to stay poor?! Living with your abusive father and struggling to afford rent, barely managing to put food on the table?! Everything I've done was for you, Noah. All of it. And all you've done is make me feel like a terrible person for it...crying about how I forced you to live with your bully instead of recognizing my sacrifice and stopping being ungrateful!"
Her voice cracked at the end, but there was no softness; only a sharp edge honed by years of resentment hidden behind perfect smiles and fancy dinners.
