“You’ve still remained the same loser,” she said loudly enough for the girls to hear. “Still living in this… hole? You’re supposed to be a man, making big money, building an empire.”
“You’re supposed to be a man,
making big money,
building an empire.”
My jaw tightened, but I refused to react.
Emma and Clara had gone still at their machines, hands resting on the fabric. They couldn’t see her, but they could hear the bitterness in her voice.
“Who’s there, Dad?” Clara asked softly.
I inhaled, steadying myself. “It’s your… mother.”
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Lauren moved further into the room, her heels striking against the worn floor.
They couldn’t see her,
but they could hear the venom
in her voice.
“Girls!” she said, her tone suddenly sugary sweet. “Look at you. You’re so grown up.”
Emma’s expression didn’t change. “We can’t see, remember? We’re blind. Isn’t that why you left us?”
The directness made Lauren hesitate for a brief second. “Of course,” she corrected smoothly. “I meant… you’ve grown so much. I’ve thought about you every single day.”
“Funny,” Clara replied, her voice cold as ice. “We haven’t thought about you at all.”
I had never felt prouder of my daughters.
Lauren cleared her throat, visibly unsettled by their response. “I came back for a reason. I have something for you.”
She brought two garment bags from behind her and set them neatly on our couch. Then she took out a thick envelope, the kind that lands with a heavy thud.
My chest tightened as she arranged her little display.
“These are designer gowns,” she said, unzipping one bag to show off the luxurious fabric. “The kind you girls could never afford. And there’s cash here too. Enough to change your lives.”
Emma reached for Clara’s hand, and they gripped each other firmly.
“Why?” I asked hoarsely. “Why now? After 18 years?”
“Why now?
After 18 years?”
Lauren smiled, but her eyes stayed cold. “Because I want my daughters back. I want to give them the life they deserve.”
She unfolded a document and placed it on top of the envelope. “But there’s one condition.”
The air in the room seemed to shrink, pressing in on us.
“What condition?” Emma asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
Lauren’s smile stretched wider. “It’s simple, darling. You can have all of this… the gowns, the money, everything. But you have to choose ME over your father.”
The words lingered like something toxic.
“But you have to choose
ME
over your father.”
“You have to acknowledge publicly that he failed you,” she continued. “That he kept you in poverty while I was out building a better future. That you’re choosing to live with me because I can ACTUALLY provide for you.”
My fists tightened at my sides. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” She turned toward me, looking victorious. “I’m giving them a chance. What have you given them? A tiny apartment and sewing lessons? Please!”
Emma reached carefully for the document, her fingers brushing across the page. “Dad, what does it say?”
“You have to acknowledge publicly
that he failed you.”
I took it from her, my hands unsteady as I read the printed words aloud. It was a contract… declaring that Emma and Clara would publicly denounce me as an inadequate father and credit Lauren for their achievements and well-being.
“She wants you to give up your relationship with me,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “For money.”
Clara’s face drained of color. “That’s sick.”
“That’s business,” Lauren replied coolly. “And it’s a limited-time offer. Decide now.”
Emma rose slowly, her hand settling on the envelope of cash. She lifted it, weighing it in her palm. “This is a lot of money,” she murmured.
My heart splintered. “Emma…”
Emma stood up slowly,
her hand finding the
envelope of cash.
“Let me finish, Dad.” She turned toward where Lauren stood. “This is a lot of money. Probably more than we’ve ever had at once.”
Lauren’s expression turned smug.
“But you know what’s funny?” Emma went on, her voice growing steadier. “We’ve never needed it. We’ve had everything that actually matters.”
Clara stood and moved beside her sister. “We’ve had a father who stayed. Who taught us. Who loved us when we were hard to love.”
“Who made sure we never felt broken,” Emma added.
Lauren’s smile began to fade.
“This is a lot of money.
Probably more than
we’ve ever had at once.”
“We don’t want your money,” Clara said firmly. “We don’t want your gowns. And we don’t want YOU.”
Emma raised the envelope high, ripped it open, and flung the bills into the air. The cash fluttered down like confetti, scattering across the floor and landing at Lauren’s expensive heels.
“You can keep it,” Emma declared. “We’re not for sale.”
Lauren’s face twisted in fury. “You ungrateful… Do you have any idea what I’m offering you? Do you know who I am now? I’m famous! I’ve spent 18 years building a career, making something of myself!”
“For yourself,” I interrupted. “You did it for yourself.”
“And now you want to use us to look like a devoted mother,” Clara finished sharply. “We’re not your props.”
“We’re not for sale.”
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