“I won’t allow it!” I snapped back. My voice was rising, as anger surged at his heartlessness. “Ella may not share our blood, but she’s still the child I’ve loved and cared for all these years. How could I suddenly stop loving her? Eighteen years, she is my daughter that I loved and cherish, how could that mean nothing?”
“Dad, Mom? What are you two talking about?”
My angry outburst was cut short by a soft, familiar voice. I did not know when she came because Ella had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in cozy loungewear and holding a glass of hot water. It seemed she had been home all this time.
At this time, I saw disbelief written all over Ella’s face.
"Ella, we …."
Before I could explain, my husband, Simon, let out a sharp, angry snort. “Ella, you heard it, didn’t you? You’re not our biological daughter!”
He stormed over to the couch and dropped onto it with a thud, his expression full of irritation.
“Simon, what’s wrong with you? Stop saying such nonsense!” I snapped, a chill running through me when I saw his harsh expression. Then I turned to my daughter.