The tears have gone, so there’s nothing to accompany the sobs wracking my body. My despair is the only sound in the room until the door creaks open, followed by his heavy footfalls as he walks over to the nightstand. He shoves my diploma to the side to make room for the glass vase full of freshly bloomed white lilies. His hands are pale and smooth, indicative of the soft life he’s led courtesy of the money my parents left for me that, only days ago, I learned he and his father blew through the last of a few months ago. Up until yesterday, those hands had never posed a threat to me. They’d only
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