I turned the phone toward her. “Explain this.”

Marisa’s face drained of color, then hardened like a concrete setting.

She was holding something up to the camera

with a small, triumphant smile.

“You don’t understand,” she snapped. “I was trying to save you.”

“By framing my daughter? By stealing from me? Are you insane?”

“She’s NOT your daughter,” Marisa hissed.

And there it was. The real truth she’d been holding back.

“She’s not your blood,” Marisa continued, stepping closer. “You’ve poured your entire life into her. The money, the house, the college fund. For what? So she can leave at 18 and forget you exist?”

And there it was.

The real truth she’d been holding back.

Everything inside me went very still and very quiet.

“Get out,” I said.

Marisa laughed. “You’re choosing her over me. Again.”

“Get out now.”

She took one step back, then reached into her purse. I thought she was going for her keys.

Instead, she pulled out my ring box. The one I’d hidden in my nightstand.

Everything inside me went very still and very quiet.

Her smile returned, smug and cruel. “I knew it. I knew you were going to propose.”

“Fine,” she added. “Keep your charity case. But I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

She turned toward the door like she owned the place. I followed her, grabbed the ring box from her hand, and opened the front door so hard it slammed against the wall.

Marisa paused on the porch and looked back. “You know what? Don’t come crying to me when she breaks your heart.”

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