Celestine led Cynthia, step by step, until they stood in front of Joanna.
Joanna had nowhere to hide.
She glanced over at Chester, hoping for some sympathy, but the man seemed lost in thought, completely checked out of the situation.
Biting her red lip, Joanna did something she’d never done before—she apologized to a child, her voice stiff and barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
Then, flustered and annoyed, she hurried out of the office.
Celestine watched it all unfold, her expression cold and unreadable.
She knelt to check Cynthia’s calf for any other injuries.
Cynthia, her voice sweet and innocent, wrapped her arms around Celestine’s neck. “Miss Angel, I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Cynthia, if anyone ever tries to bully you again, you come tell Aunt Celestine right away, okay?”
Celestine’s heart clenched. Cynthia was so sensible for her age—far too mature for a little girl. That only made her more vulnerable to being picked on.
Chester observed the whole exchange in silence.
He was certain now—Cynthia couldn’t possibly be Celestine’s daughter. But watching them together, he couldn’t help but notice how much kinder Celestine was to Cynthia than he’d ever seen her be to her own child.
Why?
Conflicted, Chester finally spoke. “Your own daughter stormed out of here. Are you done being mad yet?”
Just hearing his demanding tone made Celestine want to roll her eyes.
“These are two different things. She apologized to Cynthia—that has nothing to do with me.”
She turned, her gaze icy. “Chester, Celia’s already using violence against other children. Last time it was me, now it’s Cynthia. Who’s next? Don’t you think, as her father, you bear some responsibility here?”
Chester was momentarily stunned into silence.
When he managed a reply, his tone had gone cold. “I say one thing, you say ten. Celestine, must we do this every time?”
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