of who her father really was.
People who hear the story always know exactly where to place my father.
That’s easy.
The harder question is Delaney.
Was she spoiled, or was she shaped inside a house where taking from me had been made to look normal? Was she part of it, or just its favorite excuse?
I still don’t know.
What I do know is this: on my nineteenth birthday, my father told me to be grateful he fed me.
By the end of that week, he was the one learning that raising a child does not make her your property, your backup plan, or your personal bank account.
And whether Delaney knew enough to stop it sooner is the only part of the ending I still see people argue about.
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