From Garbage to Gold
The wine surged through my veins like liquid fire as I watched William Harrington’s words form in slow motion. My fingernails dug crescents into my palms as the room around me blurred, his voice somehow both muffled and painfully clear.
“My son deserves better than someone from the gutter,” he announced to the room full of his country club friends, business associates, and his now frozen family members. “Street garbage in a borrowed dress, pretending to belong in our world.”
