I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "Me? Your father died in an accident, Claire. I had nothing to do with it."
Claire’s eyes burned with resentment. "He wouldn’t have been in that accident if not for your father’s ridiculous request!"
I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply.
The past came rushing back—years ago, when Claire and I had been young. When we had been friends. When our fathers had worked side by side at Grandfather James’ company—Archie’s grandfather.
I still didn’t understand where her hatred stemmed from. All because my father had made a request? Even though he, too, had died that day?
My father had been suffering from a rare disease. Claire’s father—his younger brother—had spent days searching for medicine across the city. But exhaustion took its toll. He never made it home.
And yet, Claire refused to see reason. She blamed me for everything.
"After making my father die, you took Archie away from me," she spat. "You took everything that was mine."
"I told you—I never took him from you!" My voice trembled with frustration. "And I didn’t kill your father! You need to stop blaming me for fate!"
Claire’s lips curled into a cruel smile.