"That's right. We'll be living the good life with Ethel. Don't you dare come sniffing around for handouts!"
But Ethel was studying me, something calculating behind her eyes. A slow, chilling smile crept across her lips. "If we're cutting ties, let's make it permanent. I don't want this cripple clinging to me like a stray dog begging for scraps after I marry Logan and become Mrs. Stephens."
She raised her hand and drew a finger across her throat.
My parents went rigid. "No!" they said, almost in unison.
I blinked, and despite everything, something complicated stirred in my chest. Even with all their favoritism, when it came down to life and death, they still cared about me...
"Murder carries a death sentence!"
"If Abigail dies, so be it, but killing her would land us in prison too!"
The faint warmth that had kindled inside me went cold in an instant.
They weren't worried about me. They were worried about themselves.
Ethel waved it off. "What does it have to do with us? She's a cripple. Nobody would think twice if she killed herself out of despair, right?"