Lauren turned her head toward the sound like she’d heard a distant applause.
“That must be them,” she said, and her tone—her tone made my stomach twist. Not warmth. Not longing. More like calculation.
Emma stepped into the doorway, her dark hair pulled back, a measuring tape around her neck like jewelry. Clara followed, carrying a half-finished dress. They both paused, sensing the shift in the air.
“Who is it?” Clara asked softly.
Lauren’s smile widened. “It’s me,” she said, as if that meant something on its own. “Your mother.”
Silence fell so hard I could hear the refrigerator hum.
Emma’s fingers tightened on the measuring tape. Clara’s grip on the fabric went still.
I watched my daughters’ faces—two women now, not babies—and felt something fierce rise in me.
Clara swallowed. “Our… mother,” she repeated, like the word was foreign.
Lauren walked further inside, her heels clicking on our worn floor. She noticed the sewing table. The gowns draped over chairs. She touched one with the tips of her fingers, like she was confirming it was real.
“Well,” she said, impressed despite herself. “So you turned them into little… seamstresses.”
Emma’s chin lifted. “We’re designers,” she said calmly.
Lauren laughed like it was cute. “Sure, sure.”
Then she turned toward them and held out two designer shopping bags. “I brought gifts,” she announced brightly, pulling out two expensive dresses that probably cost more than our monthly rent used to.
And then—because she couldn’t help herself—she flashed a thick stack of cash in her other hand.
Clara flinched at the sound of the plastic bag crinkling. Emma didn’t.
Lauren leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret with the universe.
“I came back for my daughters,” she said. “And I’m here to make things right. But there’s one condition.”
My blood roared in my ears.
Emma’s voice was steady. “What condition?”
Lauren’s eyes flicked to me, then back to them. “You’re going to that charity showcase, right?” she asked. “The one where you’re presenting your designs?”
Clara nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Perfect,” Lauren said, clapping once. “Because you’re going to introduce me on stage as the woman who raised you. The woman who believed in your talent from the beginning.”
The room tilted.
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