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

Then I shook my head.

“I’m keeping her,” I said.

“They tried to make this the place I disappeared.

I’d rather it be the place I remember what I’m actually made of.”

They had looked at my family’s money and seen softness — had been certain that a girl raised with everything would be easy to fool, easy to drug, easy to slip over a rail into the dark.

What they never understood is that the money was never the thing that saved me.