The words hit harder than any slap.
My mother flinched. “Ethan, it’s alright. She didn’t mean—”
But I lifted a hand gently. “Mom. I heard enough.”
I looked at Evelyn, really looked at her. The designer dress. The stack of wedding magazines behind her. The entitlement dripping from every word she spoke. I had ignored a thousand small red flags because love—well, the idea of love—makes fools of all of us.
But this moment? This was clarity.
“My mother,” I began, each word sharp, “worked three jobs so I could go to school. She skipped meals so I could eat. She walked in the rain to every parent-teacher meeting. She sold her wedding ring so I could buy my first laptop.”
Evelyn let out a snort. “Seriously? You’re being emotional.”
I felt my jaw lock. “She didn’t adopt me out of charity. She adopted me because she loved me. Something you seem incapable of understanding.”
Evelyn’s face twisted. “Well excuse me for trying to bring standards to this house! If you want a mother who cleans for you, fine! But don’t expect me to marry into some—some maid’s family!”
