Gennifer watched the matriarch’s calm expression and the deliberate, crushing force of her fingers, and a cold sweat broke out across her back.
Frieda’s face darkened at the insult. “Auntie, Gennifer is my adopted daughter. How can you say she has nothing to do with the Steele family? It’s the 21st century! Are we still bound by some feudal obsession with bloodlines?”
Pearl’s brow furrowed so deeply it could have crushed a fly. What on earth was Frieda talking about? Did she think great families were built on hollow sentiment instead of lineage?
The matriarch stared at Frieda as if she’d lost her mind. “Hanley Grayson has truly brainwashed you,” she hissed, her voice thick with exasperation. “Do you even know why I came here today?”
Seeing their looks of utter disbelief, Frieda felt a surge of resentment. They had disapproved when she insisted on marrying Hanley, and now they disapproved of her adopting a daughter. Was it her choices they couldn't stand, or was it her?
The anger simmered beneath the surface, but she fought to maintain her composure. Her fingers tightened into fists. “Auntie, Hanley is a good man. This has nothing to do with him. Adopting Gennifer was my decision!”
“Fine!” the matriarch snapped. “You’re no longer a Steele anyway. You could adopt any stray off the street for all we care. And here I was, trying to do you a kindness, trying to help you see this girl’s true colors and reconcile with your actual daughter.”
The conversation had become a minefield. The matriarch stood, brushing off her sleeves as if to leave.
Panicked, Gennifer ignored the pain in her body and grabbed Frieda’s arm, her eyes pleading. If the Steele matriarch left, what would happen to the promises Frieda had made her?



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