Next to him stood his new wife, Melissa Carter, smiling in a way that made the air feel colder than it should have been under the bright California sun.
“She needed a lesson,” Melissa said, her tone sharp and controlled, as if she had just corrected a minor inconvenience instead of destroying something precious.
“Maybe next time she’ll listen when she’s told to do her chores.”
My daughter, Harper Dawson, dropped to her knees by the pool, reaching toward the water as if she could somehow pull the machine back from the bottom where it now rested like something buried.
That machine had taken her six months to afford, and I knew every detail of how she earned it because she told me about every babysitting job, every tote bag she sold online, every small sacrifice she made to save money.
Gregory shifted slightly and finally spoke, his voice uncertain. “Mel, maybe that was a bit too far…”
“Don’t,” she snapped without even looking at him. “You agreed she’s been acting spoiled.”
He said nothing after that, and that silence felt louder than the splash.
I slowly set the grocery bags down, one by one, feeling something inside me harden as I stepped closer to them.