Clad in a tattered outfit, her style a relic from three decades past, she stood among the finely dressed girls, head bowed, picking at her fingers, feigning busyness that belied her deep discomfort and embarrassment.
Miranda, however, seemed entirely unaware.
Upon spotting Vivian, she leaped to her feet and exclaimed, "Elise, Elise! Mommy's right here! You're the best! You're the most beautiful!"
The nearby parents couldn't help but titter.
"Your daughter's not Marilyn Monroe; she wouldn't look stunning in a burlap sack. Maybe you should have her change her clothes."
This comment immediately upset Miranda.
"Yes, my daughter doesn't need to dress provocatively to get attention. Unlike yours, who seems more focused on her looks than her studies."
Not only did she not cherish her own daughter, but her malice towards others' children was palpable.
The parent retorted, seething with anger.
