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Lauren, ignoring the palpable tension, strode further into our home as if she owned it. “Girls!” she chirped, her voice dripping with an artificial sweetness that grated. “Look at you. You’re so grown up!” Emma’s face remained impassive, but her voice, when it came, was a shard of ice. “We can’t see, remember? We’re blind. Isn’t that why you left?” For a fleeting second, Lauren faltered, the carefully constructed facade almost cracking. But she recovered quickly, treating emotion like a stage cue. “Of course, sweetheart. I meant… you’ve grown so much. I’ve thought about you every day.” Clara’s response was immediate and chillingly calm. “Funny. We haven’t thought about you at all.” I didn’t intervene, didn’t tell them to soften their words. The time for protecting Lauren’s feelings had expired eighteen years ago. She cleared her throat, clearly discomfited by their complete lack of awe or filial affection. “I came for a reason,” she announced, pivoting to her rehearsed agenda. “I have something for you.” From nowhere, she produced two designer garment bags, laying them meticulously on the couch as if curating a display. Then came a thick envelope, heavy with cash, thudding confidently against the cushion. “These are designer gowns,” she revealed, unzipping one bag to showcase expensive fabric. “The kind you could never afford. And there’s money too – enough to change your lives.” My daughters’ hands instinctively found each other, fingers lacing together in a silent, powerful bond. “Why?” I demanded, my voice rougher than I intended. “Why now? After eighteen years?” Lauren smiled, but it was a cold, calculating gesture that never reached her eyes. “Because I want my daughters back. I want to give them the life they deserve.” Then, she placed a folded document atop the cash. “But there’s one condition.” The air in the room grew heavy, almost suffocating. “What condition?” Emma asked, her voice steady, yet cautious, sensing the trap. Lauren’s smile widened, a predator savoring its moment. “You can have all of it. The gowns, the money, everything. But you have to choose me over your father.” The words hung in the air, a poisonous vapor. “You have to acknowledge publicly that he failed you,” she added, her voice rising with the brazen confidence of someone who believes money can buy truth itself. “That he kept you in poverty while I was out building a better future. That you’re choosing to live with me because I can actually provide for you.” My hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. “You’re out of your mind.” “Am I?” she snapped back, her triumphant gaze locking onto me. “I’m offering them opportunity. What have you given them? A cramped apartment and sewing lessons?” Emma reached toward the document, her fingers hovering, uncertain. “Dad… what does it say?” I took it, my chest tightening with a burning dread as I read the cold, legalistic script. It was exactly as Lauren promised – a contract demanding my daughters publicly denounce me as an inadequate parent, credit Lauren for their “real future,” and effectively erase my entire existence from their lives. “She wants you to trade me for money,” I whispered, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay strong. “That’s what this is.” Clara’s face went pale with disgust. “That’s… sick.” “That’s business,” Lauren corrected, smug and unyielding. “Decide now.” Emma picked up the envelope of cash, feeling its considerable weight. For a terrifying second, my heart shattered with fear – not because I doubted their loyalty, but because I knew the immense gravitational pull of money when you’ve lived without it, how seductive it can sound when you’ve had to earn everything twice over. “This is a lot,” Emma said softly, her tone unreadable. My throat tightened, “Emma…” Had the lure of money, the promise of an easier life, finally swayed my daughters, despite everything we’d built?
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