At that moment, he stood beside that mother and daughter, glaring at me and Mom with disgust, as if they were the real family.
Olivia was the old flame he had chased overseas for years.
Emily was her daughter from her divorce, about five or six years old—about the same age as me.
When I glanced longingly at the strawberries on the floor, she stomped them underfoot twice with cruelty.
She glared at me. “Street rat. Even crushed, you’re not allowed to eat them!”
I froze.
The next second, Emily smirked and hurled the mashed strawberries straight into my face.
Mom pulled me protectively into her arms, her eyes cold as she glared back. “Apologize.”
Emily scoffed, her nose practically pointing to the sky.
Mom tightened her grip on my hand and repeated firmly, “Apologize to my daughter.”
Emily suddenly shrieked, “Daddy! The mean woman bullied me!”
Richard’s brows furrowed as he bent down to scoop her up.
“Daddy won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Then he looked up coldly. “Linda, are you really picking fights with a child?”
“Emily is just a little mischievous. Kids love to play—it’s in their nature. Do you think everyone has to be like your daughter Sophie, some stiff block of wood?”