“I told you not to touch him!” Marcus’s voice shook with fury and something deeper, uglier. “What kind of… sickness is this?”
The word sickness hit like her uncle’s voice.
Janelle’s eyes burned. She swallowed hard, then forced her spine straight.
“Some fat widow nobody wanted,” she said, and her voice turned cold with truth. “Some burden your money bought.”
Marcus flinched as if she’d struck him.
“I heard him,” she continued, stronger now, still rocking, still humming under her breath. “I came up here and he was gray. Cold. Lips blue. Barely breathing. And my body… my body remembered what yours couldn’t give him.”
Marcus’s jaw worked like he was chewing words too bitter to swallow. “How?”
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