“He used me,” I said.
Grace insisted he loved me and believed I was the only person kind enough to give her a home.
That made me angrier.
He had controlled when I would learn the truth and left me to handle the consequences after his death. He knew I would not refuse a dying man.
Grief hardened me.
I packed Grace’s clothes and placed her backpack by the door.
“You can return to Marta,” I said. “You have money. You are not my responsibility.”
Her face went pale.
“I never asked him to do this.”
“Neither did I.”
I told her that every time I looked at her, I would remember the years David had kept me blind. She picked up her bag and walked toward the stairs.
Before she reached the bottom, she collapsed onto a step.
