I looked at them both, standing there like they owned everything in this house, including me. A mother and daughter who had once clung to me as if I were their last hope. Now they acted like I was an unwanted guest.
Strangely, I felt nothing. Not even anger.
If anything, I almost laughed.
"Isn't there a housekeeper?" I asked, my tone even. "Let her cook. I'm a little tired—I want to rest."
I didn't spare them another glance and limped toward the stairs. But just as I reached the top, I paused.
"Oh, and one more thing," I said without turning around. "Didn't you both say it yourselves last night? I'm not Elise's father. So there's no point in discussing what kind of father I'm supposed to be."
I stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, but the silence barely lasted a second.
Elise burst in, her voice shrill with fury. "Do you really think throwing a tantrum will scare us? That Mom and I will suddenly stop Dad from coming back because of you?!"
She stormed to the wardrobe and began yanking out my clothes, throwing them to the floor with wild abandon.
"You're dreaming!" she shouted.
Her face flushed with rage, eyes brimming with tears of anger rather than sorrow. She didn't stop there. After scattering my clothes, she dashed into the bathroom and returned holding an eyebrow razor. Without hesitation, she slashed at my shirts—blade after blade, muttering curses between clenched teeth.
"You think just because you raised me, I owe you something? You eat our food, wear our clothes and still dare show attitude?!"
She raised her voice further, the words seething through gritted teeth. "You think you're so great, right? Then don't wear what Mom bought you. Don't eat the food from this house. Just get out. Get out!"
Her little body trembled from the force of her rage, her hands cutting wildly as if trying to erase every trace of me.
I stood still, watching her without saying a word. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, but I made no move to stop her.
Gradually, her furious face began to blur in my vision, overlapping with the soft, helpless face of a baby from ten years ago.
The first time I walked into this house, she had been wailing in the nanny's arms. I rushed over instinctively and scooped her up. She had gone quiet the moment she touched my chest. Her tiny head leaned into me like I was her whole world.
Sara had stood beside me that day, letting out a quiet sigh.