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I looked at my daughter’s pale face.
“I paid for this house,” I said quietly.
Victor leaned forward in his chair.
“Not anymore.”
Soft laughter circled the table.
For two years, Victor had been dismantling Claire piece by piece.
Tiny comments.
Tiny manipulations.
Tiny emergencies.
First he convinced her I was lonely. Then forgetful. Then emotional. Then unstable.continue reading …
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