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𝑺𝑬𝑬 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 👉 Full Video : Click
The Altitude of Betrayal
The hum of the washing machine was Elara’s constant companion, a rhythmic pulse beneath the chaos of her life. Twin babies, Leo and Luna, had turned her quiet existence into a symphony of burps, coos, and urgent wails. Their first year had been a blur of sleepless nights and endless cuddles, a beautiful, exhausting whirlwind that had left Elara feeling perpetually tethered to the ground, while the rest of the world, including her husband Marcus, seemed to soar.
Marcus. He was a man of ambition, sharp suits, and an increasingly distant gaze. His career in high-stakes finance was on an upward trajectory, a meteoric rise that demanded his unwavering focus, leaving precious little for the domestic trenches Elara navigated daily. He’d once been her rock, her confidante, but lately, he felt more like a satellite, orbiting her life without ever quite landing.
“Another trip, Elara,” he’d announced six months ago, during one of his brief lulls at home. “My company’s opening an office in Singapore. They want me there for the launch, for a month. You and the kids… you have to come.”
Elara remembered the flicker of something in his eyes – not excitement at sharing the experience, but a calculative glint. It was less an invitation, more a logistical necessity. He needed his family unit presented as whole, even if it meant dragging them across the globe.
She’d been hesitant. The thought of a 14-hour flight with two infants, barely a year old, filled her with dread. The logistical nightmare, the potential meltdowns, the judgment from fellow passengers – it was a mountain she wasn’t sure she had the strength to climb. But Marcus had been insistent. “It’ll be good for them to see the world early. Plus, a change of scenery will do you good. Get you out of the house.” Out of the house, where I actually manage to get things done, she’d thought, but hadn’t said.
He’d taken charge of the flight bookings, a rare but welcome gesture. “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart,” he’d purred, swiping his credit card on his laptop. “I’ve got us the best deal. Economy, of course, for all of us. No point splurging on business with two little ones, right? We’ll be saving that for when they’re older.”
Elara had believed him. She had trusted him. They had always been a unit, a team. Besides, the thought of cramming two car seats and two active toddlers into the confines of a business class pod seemed equally, if not more, stressful. Economy it was. She pictured them huddled together, a tiny island of family amidst the rows, sharing the burden, supporting each other. It was a comforting thought, a fragile anchor in her storm-tossed life.
The weeks leading up to the flight were a blur of meticulous preparation. Elara scoured parenting blogs for tips on flying with babies, compiled endless lists of snacks, toys, diapers, medications. She packed and repacked their gargantuan suitcases, each one overflowing with essentials for two tiny humans. Marcus, meanwhile, was occupied with his own pre-trip commitments – late nights at the office, client dinners, golf games that seemed to stretch into eternity. When he was home, his attention was often fixed on his phone, a glow emanating from his face as he scrolled through emails or stock market updates.
“Are you sure you have everything, Elara?” he’d asked one evening, his eyes still glued to his screen, his tone a practiced blend of concern and detachment.
“Everything but my sanity, Marcus,” she’d mumbled, wrestling Luna into a travel outfit that suddenly seemed too small.
He’d offered a hollow chuckle, a sound that felt as empty as her energy reserves.
The day of departure dawned grey and drizzly, mirroring Elara’s mood. She’d been awake since 3 AM, coaxing an extra bottle into Leo, who seemed to have a sixth sense for impending travel and decided to stage a hunger strike. Luna, equally attuned, had chosen that morning to perfect her high-pitched shriek.
By the time they piled into the airport shuttle – two car seats, two squirming babies, a mountainous double stroller, two carry-on bags stuffed to bursting, a diaper bag that weighed more than Leo, and two personal backpacks – Elara felt like she’d already run a marathon. Her hair was a desperate bun, her clothes clung to her in the humid morning, and dark circles bloomed beneath her eyes like bruised petals. Marcus, by contrast, looked impossibly fresh in a crisp polo shirt, his carry-on slung nonchalantly over his shoulder.
“Right, passports, tickets, babies – check, check, check!” he announced, with a forced cheeriness that grated on Elara’s nerves. He held Luna’s hand as they navigated the throng of the airport, but it was Elara who pushed the stroller, managed the bulky bags, and soothed Leo who was now whimpering with a burgeoning ear infection.
At check-in, the agent, a kind-faced woman who looked like she’d seen it all, smiled sympathetically at Elara. “Long flight for you, sweetie? Got these two little adventurers with you.”
“Fourteen hours,” Elara confirmed, managing a strained smile. “Wish me luck.”
Marcus handed over their passports. The agent tapped away, then printed their boarding passes. She handed three to Elara: “Okay, Mrs. Davies, you and the little ones are in 34A, B, and C. You’ve got the whole row, plenty of space for them to stretch out a bit.”
Elara felt a tiny flicker of relief. A whole row! That was a small mercy. She glanced at Marcus’s pass. It was separate. His seat number was 12D.
“Oh, looks like they put you a few rows ahead of us, Marcus,” Elara said, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Or maybe you got the bulkhead like you said?”
Marcus snatched his pass, barely glancing at it. “Yeah, yeah, probably a glitch. Or maybe they wanted to give me some space to get some work done. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back with you guys. Probably just a temporary assignment.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s get through security. We’re cutting it close.”
The lie, Elara would realize later, had been so smoothly delivered, so perfectly timed, that it had slipped past her defenses like a ninja in the night. Exhaustion was a powerful anaesthetic for suspicion.
Security was another battleground. Taking two babies out of their stroller, collapsing it, removing all liquids, then trying to reassemble everything while keeping an eye on two crawling, grabby toddlers – it was an Olympic sport. Marcus was helpful enough, holding Leo for a minute, then disappearing to check his phone while Elara wrestled with the stroller.
They finally made it to the gate, the boarding call for families with young children already echoing through the terminal. Elara hoisted Luna onto her hip, grabbed the monster diaper bag, and nudged the now-awake Leo in his car seat, which she’d somehow strapped to the double stroller. Marcus, free of any baby-related encumbrances, strolled ahead, his backpack light, his step brisk.
“I’ll get them settled in, darling,” he said, flashing a quick, almost pitying smile over his shoulder. “You grab those last few things. I’ll be right behind you.”
Elara nodded, her mind already on the intricate dance of getting two children and their mountain of paraphernalia onto a plane. She maneuvered the stroller down the jet bridge, Leo now protesting loudly, Luna pulling at her hair. She imagined Marcus just behind her, his strong hands ready to help lift the car seats into place, to open her water bottle, to offer a reassuring word.
She was wrong.
Settling into row 34 was a feat of engineering. She unlatched Leo from his car seat, then Luna, wrangling them into their respective plane seats. The car seats, miraculously, fit into the overhead bins. The diaper bag, heavier than ever, was crammed under the seat in front. Formula, bottles, pacifiers, a menagerie of teething toys, all laid out within reach.
The plane was filling up. The overhead bins were clanking shut. The flight attendants were making their final sweeps.
But Marcus wasn’t there.
Elara’s heart began a slow, ominous thud. She checked her phone. Still on airplane mode. She called his name, softly at first, then louder, craning her neck down the aisle. Nothing.
A flight attendant, a kind woman with silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, paused by her row. “Everything alright, ma’am? Can I help you with anything?”
“My husband,” Elara said, her voice tight with rising panic. “He said he was right behind me. Marcus Davies. Seat 12D.” She gestured vaguely forward, trying to appear calm. “He’s usually so punctual.”
The flight attendant’s smile faltered slightly. She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Let me just check for you, ma’am.” She disappeared towards the front of the plane.
Elara tried to calm herself. Maybe he’d been held up by another passenger. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom. Maybe…
The flight attendant returned a few minutes later, her eyes now filled with a subtle, uncomfortable sympathy. She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice hushed. “Ma’am, I checked with the purser. Mr. Davies is indeed on board. But… his seat is 2F.”
Elara stared blankly. “Two F?” she repeated, her mind struggling to process. “What does that mean?”
The attendant hesitated, then her gaze flickered towards the plush, curtained section at the very front of the plane. “That means, ma’am… Mr. Davies is in Business Class.”
The world tilted. The hum of the plane became a roar. The gentle rocking of the fuselage felt like a violent tremor. Business Class. While she was here, in economy, with two crying, squirming, utterly dependent infants.
A cold, sickening wave washed over Elara, followed swiftly by a scorching inferno of betrayal. He hadn’t just upgraded himself; he had secretly upgraded himself. He had lied. He had watched her struggle, watched her board alone, and then, presumably, glided past the curtain into a world of comfort, space, and peace. While she braced for fourteen hours of sheer, unadulterated hell.
“Is there… is there a chance he made a mistake?” Elara choked out, clutching Luna tighter as the baby began to fuss.
The flight attendant shook her head gently. “The manifest is clear, ma’am. His name is on 2F. He checked in, picked his seat.” Her eyes softened further. “He’s already settled in, I assure you.”
Settled in. The words twisted like a knife. While Elara was settling in for a marathon of nappy changes, pacing the aisles, shushing, rocking, and trying to appease two tiny dictators. While she would be getting judgmental stares, he would be getting champagne and hot towels.
The flight attendant, seeing the devastation in Elara’s eyes, placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I’ll do my best to help you throughout the flight, ma’am. Don’t hesitate to call.”
Elara barely heard her. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of Marcus’s lies, his dismissive smiles, his absent presence over the past year. This wasn’t just an isolated incident; this was the brutal culmination of a pattern. He didn’t just take her for granted; he actively, consciously, and selfishly chose his comfort over her immense burden.
The plane began its slow taxi down the runway. Leo started to cry, a full-throated wail that pierced Elara’s already shattered composure. Luna, startled, joined in, her shrieks echoing in the cramped space.
Elara felt the stares from the rows around her. She braced herself. This wasn’t just a flight anymore. This was a battle for survival. And she was fighting it alone.
The next fourteen hours were a blurry, torturous nightmare. Leo’s ear infection flared, making him inconsolable. Luna, not to be outdone, refused to sleep for more than twenty-minute stretches, choosing instead to practice her newly discovered crawling skills on Elara’s lap, constantly reaching for the seatback in front.
Elara was a human pacifier, a mobile changing station, a rocking chair, a feeding machine. Every time she managed to get one baby settled, the other would inevitably wake up, demanding attention. She tried to eat the bland airline food with one hand, while cradling a crying baby in the other. She navigated the tiny, germ-ridden airplane bathroom, performing acrobatic diaper changes while bracing against turbulence.
The kind flight attendants were true angels, bringing her extra water, offering to hold a baby for a few minutes while she stretched her aching back, even helping her warm bottles. They looked at her with pity and a quiet understanding that Marcus, just beyond that flimsy curtain, clearly lacked.
She fantasized about storming into business class, about yanking back that curtain and screaming at him. But the sheer exhaustion, the need to prioritize her children, kept her rooted. She couldn’t afford a scene. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure. She needed every ounce of her dwindling energy for Leo and Luna.
As the plane finally began its descent, the cabin lights dimming for landing, Elara felt like a husk of her former self. Her muscles ached, her head throbbed, and her soul felt bruised beyond repair. The only thing keeping her going was the cold, hard resolve solidifying in her heart: Marcus Davies had no idea what was coming. Karma, she promised herself, was a dish best served at cruising altitude.
When the plane finally touched down, a round of polite applause rippled through the cabin. Elara didn’t clap. She was too busy trying to gather her children and their endless array of items. As soon as the seatbelt sign flicked off, people began to disembark. She saw the business class passengers, refreshed and unruffled, walking past her row. And there he was.
Marcus.
He looked impossibly well-rested, his shirt still crisp, his hair perfectly in place. He had that smug, self-satisfied look she’d come to dread. He gave a slight nod to one of the flight attendants, a polite, distant acknowledgment, as if he hadn’t just abandoned his family for fourteen hours of luxury.
He caught Elara’s eye. His smile was easy, unapologetic. “Hey, darling! How was it? All good, I assume? Had a pretty productive flight myself. Got a ton of work done.”
His words, so casually delivered, hit Elara like a physical blow. All good? A ton of work? She felt a fierce, uncontrollable rage bubbling beneath her carefully constructed composure. Leo, sensing the tension, started to whine. Luna tugged at Elara’s hair.
Elara said nothing. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. Her silence, however, was a wall of ice.
Marcus, oblivious as ever, simply shrugged off her lack of response. “Right. Let’s get these little ones off the plane. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.” And with that, he slipped into the stream of passengers, leaving Elara to wrestle the car seats, the diaper bag, and two increasingly restless toddlers down the crowded aisle.
The arrival hall in Singapore was a blur of tropical humidity and unfamiliar faces. Elara, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, finally managed to locate their luggage. Marcus was there, leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as she approached, an almost exasperated sigh escaping his lips.
“Finally, Elara,” he said, pushing off the pillar. “What took you so long? Thought you’d never make it. These things always take forever.” He gestured vaguely at the mountainous pile of luggage, his eyes carefully avoiding hers. He didn’t offer to help with the bags immediately. He just stood there, waiting.
Elara just stared at him, her eyes burning with an unspoken accusation. “I was busy, Marcus,” she said, her voice a flat, dead monotone. “Being a single parent on a transcontinental flight.”
He actually scoffed. “Oh, come on, Elara. Don’t be dramatic. It’s one flight. You’re always so good with them. Besides, I told you, I had work to do. My company expects me to be on top of things.” He paused, then added, with a dismissive wave, “Anyway, let’s get a taxi. I’ve booked us into a fantastic hotel.”
The next few days were a tense, silent standoff. Elara fulfilled her duties as a mother with meticulous precision, but she withdrew from Marcus completely. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, her responses clipped and devoid of emotion. She ensured Leo and Luna were cared for, fed, entertained, but she did not cook for Marcus, did not ask about his work, did not share a single glance of affection.
He seemed bewildered by her frosty demeanor, occasionally asking, “What’s wrong with you, Elara? You’ve been so quiet.” Or, “Is everything alright? You’re acting strangely.”
Each time, she would offer a noncommittal shrug, or a terse, “Nothing’s wrong, Marcus. I’m just tired.” The weariness wasn’t a lie, but it masked a deeper, more profound hurt.
She watched him. She saw how easily he slipped back into his self-absorbed routines. He’d disappear for hours to his office, leaving her alone in the hotel with the twins. When he returned, he’d expect a hot meal, a clean room, and her undivided attention, despite his own frequent absences. He’d complain if the hotel wifi was slow, or if the room service was delayed. He didn’t notice the dark circles under her eyes deepening, or the way she flinched when Leo cried.
This wasn’t just about the flight. It was about years of subtle neglect, of her needs being consistently placed second, third, or even fourth. The business class upgrade was merely the undeniable, glaring proof of his utter disregard. It was a betrayal so stark, so brazen, that it had stripped away the last vestiges of her willingness to tolerate it.
One evening, after Marcus had fallen asleep, snoring softly beside her, Elara lay awake. She pulled out her phone and carefully scrolled through her emails, locating the original flight confirmation Marcus had sent her. It clearly stated ‘Economy’ for all four passengers. Then she opened her banking app, checking their shared account. She saw a separate, substantial charge from the airline – a Business Class upgrade, purchased just two days before their flight. He had actively, deliberately, paid for it. Not a “last-minute free upgrade,” as she’d initially suspected he might claim. He had planned this.
Her anger, simmering for days, finally solidified into a cold, hard resolve. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of a direct confrontation yet. She would play his game, but with rules he wouldn’t see coming.
She started quietly gathering her evidence. Screenshots of the booking confirmation, bank statements. She even discreetly asked the kind flight attendant from her initial flight for her contact details, under the guise of wanting to send a thank-you note for her help with the twins. The flight attendant, a woman named Agnes, had smiled warmly and given Elara her card. “Anytime, love. You did amazing.”
Elara knew Agnes had seen everything. She had seen Marcus stroll past, freshly showered and looking smug. She had seen Elara struggling alone. Agnes was her unwitting witness.
The return journey loomed, a week later. Marcus, oblivious to the storm brewing, was still operating under the assumption that Elara would eventually “get over it.” He even made a feeble attempt at reconciliation. “Look, Elara,” he’d said one morning, over breakfast. “I know you’re mad about the flight. But it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. I needed to focus. You know how important this contract is.”
Elara looked up from spoon-feeding Luna. Her eyes were devoid of warmth. “Did you know, Marcus,” she said, her voice calm, “that I changed seven diapers, fed them eight bottles, and walked the aisles for six hours with Leo on my shoulder because his ears were hurting? Did you know I got exactly thirty-five minutes of broken sleep while you were enjoying your gourmet meal and lie-flat bed?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I… I didn’t think about it like that. I thought you’d be fine. You always are.”
“That’s the problem, Marcus,” she replied, her voice dangerously soft. “You always assume I’ll be fine. You always assume I’ll just handle it. And you always assume you can get away with anything.”
He bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She just smiled, a thin, humourless line. “You’ll find out, Marcus. You’ll find out.”
The day of their flight back to London arrived. Elara was prepared. She had discreetly made a few phone calls the day before, using her own credit card. She had even managed to arrange for a trusted nanny she knew from home to meet them at the London airport, a surprise for Marcus.
At check-in, Marcus, ever the picture of confidence, handed over their passports. “Four to London, please. And could you check if there are any upgrades available for me? Just a quick check.” He winked at the agent.
The agent, a young man, tapped away. His brow furrowed. “Mr. Davies… it seems your booking has been changed. You’re in 42F, sir. Middle seat, last row, next to the lavatories.”
Marcus’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s impossible! I’m meant to be in Business Class!”
The agent, unflustered, continued, “No, sir. Your original booking was Economy. And it appears that your Economy seat has been reallocated to 42F. And Mrs. Davies and the children are in Premium Economy, row 20, with bassinets and extra legroom.”
Elara stepped forward, her face a mask of serene calm. “Yes, that’s correct. I made a slight adjustment to the booking, darling. Thought it was only fair.” Her eyes, however, sparkled with an icy triumph.
Marcus sputtered, his face reddening. “You… you did what? Elara, what have you done? I had a client meeting booked for as soon as we land! I need to be rested!”
Elara merely smiled. “Funny, that’s exactly what I needed on the way here. Don’t worry, Marcus. You’re always so good at managing. You’ll be fine.” She turned to the agent. “Thank you so much. And could you ensure Mr. Davies’s luggage is checked through? And perhaps, if there’s a delay, that he’s the last one to get off the plane?”
The agent, catching the subtext, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Of course, ma’am.”
Marcus glared at Elara, his carefully constructed composure finally crumbling. “This is sabotage! This is unbelievable!”
“It’s karma, Marcus,” Elara whispered, leaning in close. “And it’s only just beginning.”
The boarding process was a stark reversal. Elara, with the help of a very cheerful ground staff member (who seemed to have received a discreet message from Agnes), was ushered through with the twins, directly to their spacious Premium Economy seats. The bassinets were already set up. The flight attendants greeted her warmly.
A few minutes later, Marcus trudged down the aisle, his face a thundercloud. He squeezed past passengers, his elegant suit now looking rumpled and out of place in the last row of economy. His seat, 42F, was indeed a middle seat, directly next to the perpetually flushing lavatories. The smell of stale air and cleaning solution wafted towards him.
As he tried to cram his carry-on into the already full overhead bin, a woman with a crying baby in the seat next to him eyed him with unconcealed annoyance. Another passenger next to him was already asleep, snoring loudly, his elbow infringing on Marcus’s minuscule space.
Marcus finally slumped into his seat, glaring at the seatback in front of him. He looked utterly miserable.
Elara, from her comfortable Premium Economy seat, watched him. She knew he couldn’t see her through the partition, but she felt a profound sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t malicious; it was righteous.
During the flight, Elara enjoyed the relative peace of Premium Economy. The twins, settled in their bassinets, slept for longer stretches. The meals were better, the service attentive. She even managed to watch half a movie. She occasionally saw a harried-looking Marcus making his way to the lavatory, his face grim, his movements stiff. He looked utterly exhausted.
Mid-flight, one of the flight attendants came by with a discreet smile. “Mrs. Davies, I received a message from Agnes, your flight attendant from the Singapore leg. She wanted me to let you know that she did indeed file a report regarding Mr. Davies’s unusual behaviour and seat allocation. Apparently, he also made a few… unsavoury comments to some of the business class attendants. The airline takes these matters very seriously, especially when family members are involved.”
Elara’s eyes widened. “She did?”
“Oh yes. And it seems there was also a passenger in Business Class who recognised Mr. Davies and happened to be an acquaintance of his CEO. She apparently took a rather unflattering photo of him enjoying his champagne while you were struggling. That photo, I believe, found its way to his head office earlier today.” The flight attendant’s smile was knowing. “Karma, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Davies?”
Elara felt a thrill of vindication. She hadn’t even needed to make the call herself. The universe, it seemed, had already set its wheels in motion.
When they finally landed in London, Marcus looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. His suit was creased, his hair dishevelled, and his eyes were bloodshot. He smelled faintly of stale airplane air.
As they disembarked, Elara saw him. He moved slowly, deliberately, his usual brisk confidence entirely gone. He spotted her waiting for him at the gate, Luna asleep in the stroller, Leo clutching a small toy. She stood tall, her posture erect, a quiet strength radiating from her.
Marcus approached her, his face a mixture of anger and raw exhaustion. “Elara, we need to talk.”
“Yes, we do, Marcus,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “But first, let me introduce you to Sarah, our new nanny. She’ll be helping us with the twins from now on.” A friendly woman stepped forward, smiling warmly. “And she’ll be staying at our house for the next few weeks. On your dime, of course.”
Marcus gaped. “A nanny? For weeks? Elara, what are you doing?”
“I’m prioritizing myself and our children, Marcus,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “This isn’t just about a flight. This is about a pattern of disregard, of lies, of taking me for granted. It’s about you putting your comfort, your ambition, and your self-interest above the well-being of your family.”
He started to protest, but she held up a hand. “No. Listen. Your company called me, Marcus. They received a complaint from a fellow passenger, and an official report from the airline. They are investigating your ‘business class’ upgrade, which you expensed, by the way, while lying to me about it. They’re also investigating a few other things. It seems your behaviour on board was not exactly… professional.”
Marcus went pale. The blood drained from his face, leaving him looking ashen. “What… what did they say?”
“They said they’d be in touch, and that your position might be under review,” Elara stated, her gaze unwavering. “And that, Marcus, is just the beginning. I’ve opened a separate bank account. I’ve spoken to a lawyer. And I’ve started making plans for a future where I am respected, where my efforts are valued, and where I’m not treated as an invisible, disposable support staff.”
He stared at her, utterly defeated. The arrogance, the smugness, the self-importance – it had all been stripped away, leaving behind a hollow, terrified man. He saw the fire in her eyes, the steel in her voice. He saw that this was not a whim, but a carefully considered decision.
“Elara… please,” he stammered, finally seeing the true depth of his mistake, the magnitude of what he had lost. “I… I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Give me another chance. I’ll change. I promise.”
Elara looked at her sleeping children, then back at Marcus. “Change, Marcus,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “Change for yourself. Because from now on, I’m changing for me. And whether you’re part of that change, or simply a lesson learned, is entirely up to you. But I can guarantee you this: you will never again leave me alone in economy, while you fly high in business class. Because next time, I’ll be in the cockpit.”
She picked up Leo’s carry-on, took Luna’s hand, and walked past Marcus, Sarah and the children following in her wake. The airport, once a symbol of his betrayal, now felt like a runway for her own, much deserved, solo flight. The altitude of betrayal had indeed been high, but Elara had found her own wings, and Marcus, grounded by the weight of his own actions, could only watch her soar.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
