“After all these years of raising her, is that really all she owes us?”
Lance walked in with Cindy and immediately caught the tail end of his parents arguing. They were, of course, talking about Claire.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “So what, Mom? Do you want her to write you a check for every cent you spent on her growing up?”
Octavia’s face tightened. “It’s not about the money.”
“I’m just angry, that’s all,” she went on. “Look at what Cindy went through out in the countryside, and then compare it to the life Claire had in this house.”
“That’s not Claire’s fault,” Lance replied, his gaze lingering on his mother. “She told me if you really want to blame someone, blame the person who mixed up the babies in the first place.”
The meaning in his words wasn’t lost on Octavia, and for a moment, her expression faltered. Latham, nearby, looked unsettled too, though she didn’t notice it.
“Alright, that’s enough. None of this helps now,” Latham finally said, his tone decisive. “Claire's right. You need to make a public apology. We’ll have a press conference, and then we move on.”
“No one in this family is allowed to hassle her again. Got it?”
His eyes lingered on Cindy. “Cindy, you should be focusing on your schoolwork.”
“I understand, Dad.” Cindy’s voice was tiny. She knew her dad was warning her. Tears shimmered in her eyes, making her look even more fragile.
When Latham left, Octavia quickly pulled Cindy close. “Don’t be upset, honey. Your father doesn’t hate you. He just wants you to become the best version of yourself, that’s all.”
She wiped her daughter’s tears, then frowned a little. “Where were you last night, anyway? Lance looked everywhere for you and you never turned up.”

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