I'll Buy Your Son With My Husband's Card

Summary

My daughter was mowed down on the campus promenade by a drunk, speeding trust-fund brat.

Her femur was shattered. Multiple ribs were broken. She was, and still is, in a coma.

His parents requested a meeting to settle things.

Her tone was a blade of arrogance, sharp and self-assured.

“Ava,” she said, “just sign the liability waiver. Let’s not drag this out and ruin my son’s future.”

A wildfire of rage consumed what little reason I had left. I snatched the papers and threw them back in her face. “You can go to hell.”

A smirk played on her lips as she looked up at me from her seat.