“I told you, call me ‘uncle.’ Emily doesn’t like hearing anyone else call me ‘dad.’ It makes her unhappy.”
Later, I drifted into deep sleep.
And then that man knelt in front of me, his voice hoarse with tears:
“Sophie, Daddy was wrong. Please… open your eyes and look at me just once more…”
…
“Linda Summers, do you really think you’re still the lady of the Foster family?”
“I’ll say it one more time—give Emily Sophie’s room. It has the best sunlight, and Emily likes it.”
Richard’s brows knitted, anger flashing between his eyes.
Just moments before, Mom had worked tirelessly preparing the anniversary dinner.
I had wanted to sneak a bite, but she insisted we wait for Richard.
Yet the moment he walked through the door, he threw the entire table of food into the trash. Plates and ceramic shattered across the floor.
“I told you Olivia is allergic to strawberries. How dare you prepare them for dinner?”
I looked at him in confusion—the man in a sharp suit, tall and commanding.
Everyone said he was a titan in the business world.
But he didn’t even know that his real daughter’s favorite fruit was strawberries.