of the garbage hitting the plastic liner echoing over the soft jazz playing in the background.
The sheer, breathtaking cruelty of it hit me like a physical blow to the chest. They had placed the patriarch of the family, the man whose sweat and brilliance had built the very fortune they were currently using to impress strangers, next to a literal garbage can to keep him out of the official wedding photographs.
I didn’t care about Chloe’s perfect, heavily curated aesthetic. I didn’t give a damn about the wealthy, judgmental in-laws sitting at the head table.
I walked straight through the maze of silk-draped, candlelit tables. I ignored the horrified, wide-eyed glares of my aunts as I marched past them. I reached Arthur’s isolated little table in the shadows.
I knelt down beside his chair, ignoring the smell of the garbage bin. I gently took his trembling, liver-spotted hand in mine. His skin felt paper-thin and cold.
