"Support?"
I almost laughed.
"Mr. Whitmore, from childhood to adulthood, what exactly have you supported me in?"
He froze.
"Other fathers—even those with nothing—wouldn't dream of snatching opportunities from their own daughter. But you're different." I met his gaze, voice steady. "Even when your daughter succeeds on her own merits, you beat her down. Your 'support' is reserved for outsiders. You've never extended a hand to me. Since you've given me nothing, what right do you have to threaten to take it away?"
"You—!"
Richard shot to his feet, face darkening.
Vanessa rushed forward, grabbing my hand with feigned desperation. "Sister! How can you talk to Dad like that? Apologize! He's still our father!"
Richard clutched his chest, finger trembling as he pointed at me. "You see this? This is exactly why I help Nessa and not you!"
Margaret rushed to rub his back, shooting me a look of reproach. "Rena, I didn't bring you home to start a war. Look at Nessa—why can't you be sensible like her? Apologize!"
I shook off Vanessa's hand.
"I'm not sensible. Fine. As long as Vanessa is. After all, you've never treated me as a daughter anyway."
"How dare you!" Richard roared.
"Am I wrong?"
Crash.