They Drank My Father’s Champagne and Toasted My Death. They Forgot Whose Daughter I Am

We are built with an old alarm that fires long before the thinking part of us catches up, a sense for wrongness that predates language, and mine was ringing like a struck bell.

So instead of getting up and going back to bed like a sensible drugged bride, I stayed exactly where I was, in the dark of the stairwell, below the line of the railing, and I listened.

Chapter 3 — The Dosage

“So how are you managing it, Flynn?” A man’s voice, brisk, businesslike.

It took my swimming head a moment to place it: Aidan.

My father-in-law.