Sophie’s gaze swept over my faded maternity dress, her lips curling into a sneer. “Claire, I’m only saying this for your own good—when a woman’s pregnant, she should treat herself better. And what’s that in your hand? Looks ancient. Don’t let it press against your baby.”
Instinctively, I tightened my grip on the toy. It was Emma’s favorite bunny, worn down to threadbare fur but cherished as her nightly companion. After she was gone, it became my only tangible memory of her, and I fully intended to take it with me when I left.
“That’s none of your business,” I bit out, not wanting to waste breath on her, and turned toward my daughter’s room.
“Hey, don’t walk away.” Sophie suddenly stepped forward and deliberately bumped my arm. The bunny slipped from my grasp, tumbling across the floor until it landed at her feet.
Before I could bend down to retrieve it, her ten-centimeter heel came down hard on one of its ears, the sharp crack of tearing fabric filling the air.