Adopted to Biological? Keep Your Golden Child Scapegoat Out novel Chapter 67

Chapter 6

Even after I moved to that forgotten town three hours upstate, I couldn’t fully escape my old life.

Quinn’s social media was one long highlight reel of their perfect romance.

Zachary taking her to Africa for the great migration. Crafting matching rings in some artisan workshop. Sickeningly sweet couple selfies. Visiting her rural hometown, playing the hero passing out care packages at the senior center.

And everywhere else online-his face. His story.

The legendary cop who went deep cover for a decade and brought down the biggest crime family in the state.

Even at the corner bodega, people talked about the Whitmore takedown like Zachary was some action movie hero.

When you’re that far gone, you hate everything.

I hated Zachary for destroying me.

Hated my father for the choices he made.

Hated the world for being this brutal.

Hated myself for not being strong enough.

I stopped leaving the apartment. Stopped functioning.

A box of ramen lasted me a week.

When I got thirsty, I drank straight from the tap.

Spent entire nights staring at the peeling ceiling.

Watched it go from black to gray to pale morning light.

My weight dropped to ninety pounds.

Zachary reached out once during that time.

Because of Quinn.

Apparently she’d “casually mentioned” how much she’d always loved this bracelet I wore in college. He wanted to know where to buy one.

His voice was flat. Detached:

“Your father committed crimes. I did what I was trained to do. That’s not on me. But we had ten years together. Doesn’t that mean anything? Aren’t we at least friends?”

Fuck his friendship.

That’s what finally broke me.

I slit my wrists.

My landlord found me when he came to fix a leak. Called 911.

Told me to be out by the end of the month.

Nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

Then this elderly woman who survived on recycling returns offered me a place to stay.

She’d tell me:

“Sweetheart, most of life is hard. But nothing lasts forever. You just have to outlast the pain.”

Found out later she’d lost her parents young. Her husband died a year into their marriage. Raised her son alone,

then lost him in a construction accident right after his baby was born.

Now she was seventy-something, raising that grandson on almost nothing.

That woman was Denny’s grandmother.

She passed when Denny was sixteen.

He handled it like someone who’d buried family before. Cal. Efficient. Heartbreakingly practiced.

Made me think: What was I doing at sixteen?

Throwing tantrums over broken nails. Running to Daddy when I scraped my knee.

At sixteen, I made the worst decision of my life-I brought Zachary into our home.

And when Denny turned sixteen, I made another rash call-I took him in.

t

The dirty money Dad left behind-I gave all of it away.

To survive, to keep Denny in school, I had to work.

My hands didn’t work anymore. But my eye was still sharp.

So I taught myself photography. Started taking freelance gig

Turns out when you’re busy, the pain dulls.

At least I wasn’t drowning in memories every waking second.

Two years passed like that.

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