Mark looked at me with a frown. "Still angry, huh?" He exhaled as if offering the final solution to my ungrateful mood. "Fine, I've already contacted an overseas specialist to treat your mom's stroke. Maybe she'll be well enough to join our wedding." Then, with a surprising touch of condescension, he reached out and patted my head the same way he petted Chloe. "Happy now?"
My stomach turned. His lie was as obvious as revolting and I had no energy to confront it. Instead, I turned away, letting the tears fall in silence.
When I didn't respond, he grew impatient. He shoved me, his tone rough. "Did you hear me? Don't look at me like that! You're lucky I'm even trying to be nice. What good are you if you're just bitter all the time? Nowhere is better than Chloe and you have a foul temper, you deserve to be unpopular wherever you go."
My injured foot hit the edge of the coffee table, reopening the cuts, but he didn't even glance back before slamming the door on his way out.