Her hair was perfect. Her clothes probably cost more than our rent.
She wore sunglasses—even though the sky was gray.
When she lowered them and looked at me, her expression was cold.
“Mark,” she said.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there.
She pushed past me anyway.
Like she still had the right.
She stepped into our home, her eyes scanning everything.
The modest furniture. The sewing table. The life we had built.
Her nose wrinkled.
“You’ve still remained the same loser,” she said loudly. “Still living in this… hole? You’re supposed to be a man, making big money, building an empire.”
My jaw tightened.
But I said nothing.
Behind me, Emma and Clara had gone still.
“Who’s there, Dad?” Clara asked softly.
I took a breath.
“It’s your… mother.”
The silence that followed felt endless.For illustrative purposes only
Lauren walked further in, her heels clicking against the worn floor.
“Girls!” she said brightly. “Look at you. You’re so grown up.”
Emma didn’t react.
“We can’t see, remember? We’re blind. Isn’t that why you left us?”
For a moment, Lauren faltered.
Then she smiled again.
“Of course. I meant… you’ve grown so much. I’ve thought about you every single day.”
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