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My chicken is still pale pink inside but I don’t complain. I dip it into the sauce to mask the raw taste.
...
He was my boyfriend, my best friend and my father all rolled into one.
bby ur a victim..
‘By the way,’ he adds as he walks away, ‘it’s a shame you don’t have any more daughters. A year or two younger would’ve been just right.’ Then he winks at me and saunters back inside.
ew...
‘She died a few years ago,’ I say quickly. ‘Breast cancer.’
I know in that moment I will never see him again.
The music continues and people pass me by in the corridor but they don’t see me. They don’t know who I really am. I am nothing to them,
Am I the unreliable narrator in our story?
