Page 6 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Don't even try it. I know that tone. That's your 'everything is absolutely not fine but I'm pretending it is' tone. Tonight. You and me. Spilling of guts. No arguing."

I can't help but smile. "Okay,Mom."

"Damn right. Text me when you get to Dad's?"

"Will do."

"Love you, sis. Can’t wait to get you married this weekend!"

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and it takes me a breath before I can speak. "Love you too."

Two years ago, Megan had practically vibrated with excitement when I told her about meeting Nathan. She'd grilled me for every detail over coffee—how he looked in his suit, how he'd asked for my number, and whether I thought he might be "the one."

"Finally!"she squealed when I showed her the engagement ring."Someone who can appreciate how amazing you are!"

My throat tightens. If only she knew how wrong we both were.

I grip the steering wheel tighter until my knuckles turn white. A horn blares as someone cuts me off, but I barely notice.

Mom would have loved Nathan, at least the version of him I met. The charming investment banker who promised to make my fashion dreams come true. But now... now I'm grateful she never got to meet him. Never had to watch her daughter get betrayed by someone who was supposed to love her.

I pullinto the driveway of our yellow two-story house, and park behind Freddy’s beat-up Honda Civic.

The sage green paint on the front door is peeling. Another item on my endless to-do list. Mom would hate seeing the house like this—she always made sure everything was perfect, right down to the brass doorknob she polished every Sunday.

The key sticks in the lock like it always does. I have to jiggle it just right—up and to the left, then a sharp turn. The door creaksopen, and I'm hit with the musty smell that's become a regular fixture in this house for the last six years.

"Dad?" I call out, stepping inside. "It's Lacey."

A thump comes from upstairs, followed by the sound of drawers being hastily shut. My stomach drops. I know that sound.

"Well, if it isn't Mom's favorite charity case." Freddy rushes down the stairs. He's wearing a wrinkled hoodie that looks like he slept in it, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

I scan the living room as I drop my purse on the entry table. "Where's Dad?"

"He's in the kitchen." Freddy grips the railing tightly. "You don't need to check up on him."

"Get out of my way," I push past him towards the kitchen, my voice hard. "Dad?"

The kitchen looks like a war zone: dishes stacked like precarious towers, crusty plates with molding food, and sticky spots on the counter that'll take hours to clean.

And in the middle of it all is Dad, sitting in stained clothing and staring at a cold cup of coffee.

"Dad?" My voice cracks. "Have you eaten anything?"

He looks up, his mouth drawn in a line. He hasn’t said a single word for over a year now. The doctors say he may never speak again as his dementia worsens.

I shoot a glare at Freddy, who's followed me into the kitchen. "What the hell have you been doing this whole time?"

"I had things to take care of." He crosses his arms.

"Like pawning off more of Mom's jewelry?"

"Shut the fuck up, LaceyMcKinney.She was my mom, not yours."

The words hit like a physical blow. My hands shake as I start gathering dishes, trying to hide how much that stings. But he's right.

McKinney. Not Huang.

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