“You’ve still remained the same loser,” she said loud enough for the girls to hear. “Still living in this… hole? You’re supposed to be a man, making big money, building an empire.”
My jaw stiffened, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response. Emma and Clara had frozen at their sewing machines, their hands stilling on the fabric. They couldn’t see her, but they could hear the venom in her voice.
“Who’s there, Dad?” Clara asked quietly.
I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s your… mother.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Lauren walked further into the room, her heels clicking against our worn floor.
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