Lahat ng Kabanata ng He Chose His Step Mother, I Chose His Uncle: Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

The cold, metallic bite of the handcuffs is a sensation I never thought I’d feel, especially not while grieving. The police officers are surprisingly firm as they lead me through the hospital corridors, their hands like vices on my upper arms. I keep twisting my head back, my eyes searching for Ow

The walls of this holding cell are sweating, and honestly, so am I. It’s been almost forty-eight hours of flickering fluorescent lights, the smell of industrial bleach, and the kind of bone-deep chill that no amount of shivering can fix. I’m huddled in the corner of the narrow cot, hugging my knee

The air in the morgue is heavy with the scent of formaldehyde and the crushing weight of finality. I stand over my mother’s body, staring at the pale, waxen stillness of her face. This isn't how it was supposed to end. She was the matriarch, the one who survived the scandals and the secrets, and now

"So you saw her that day?" The detective’s voice is a low, gravelly drone that usually makes me want to yawn, but today? Today, it’s music to my ears. I’m sitting in the Newton’s private study, the air smelling of aged mahogany and the faint, lingering scent of Grandmother’s favorite lavender sache

I sit in the back of the car, the scent of raw egg and sulfur filling the cramped space until I feel like I might actually gag. I need to get clean, and I need to be somewhere that feels like mine—or at least, somewhere that doesn't smell like a holding cell. "Take me to the studio," I tell the dri