My heart felt like it was sinking, slow and heavy.
Something between me and Cindy had changed. The closeness we used to share suddenly felt distant, like I was holding onto a memory instead of my little girl.
“Sweetie, let Mommy check. Are your hives gone? Does anything still hurt?” I asked softly, reaching out to her.
But Cindy, always so gentle and obedient, frowned and pulled away. “Mom, what are you doing? Don’t touch me. Mom, hold me,” she said, her voice small and annoyed.
She reached out for “Mom,” but she didn’t mean me.
I just stood there, watching as Cindy stretched her arms out, calling for her mom—except her eyes weren’t on me. That moment hit me like a punch to the chest, leaving a pain so sharp I could barely breathe.
Julia swooped in, scooping Cindy up with a smug little smile. She sat down on the couch, and Cindy curled up in her lap, refusing to even glance my way.
“Ms. Greenwood, don’t take it so hard,” Julia said, her voice sugary sweet. “You raised Cindy, sure, but I’m her real mother. Of course she feels closer to me. Honestly, I feel bad for you. You gave up years of your life and what do you have to show for it? If it were me, I’d have left ages ago instead of putting up with all this.” She turned her attention to her nails, acting like she actually cared.
I ignored her. Julia lived for this—stirring up drama, twisting the knife. Only an idiot would give her the reaction she wanted.
My ankle throbbed with every step, but I limped over and sat down at the edge of the couch. I wanted to talk to Cindy, to ask her what happened while we were apart, to promise her that I’d keep her safe, no matter what.
But the second I sat down, Cindy curled up even tighter, burying herself in Julia’s arms like I was a stranger. Like she was building a wall between us.
My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

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