“No,” Claire replied. “He married the daughter of the woman you blamed instead of admitting your mistake.”
The room grew quiet.
“She stole from us,” my mother insisted.
“No,” I said firmly. “You found the bracelet later. And you let her live with that lie.”
“Adam, enough,” my father muttered.
“No,” I said again. “Not this time.”
My mother stood abruptly. “We’re leaving.”
Claire rose as well. “My mother has a name. It’s Martha.”
My parents walked out without another word.
I placed money on the table. “I’m done. I don’t want anything from you anymore.”
This time, I reached for Claire’s hand first.
As we walked home, she pulled out a folded recipe.
“My mom’s cookie recipe.”
I smiled. “Thank you… for bringing her back into my life.”
Claire met my gaze. “We still have a contract. But… I see you differently now. Maybe we should actually get to know each other.”
“Maybe over a real date?” I suggested.
Later, as she handed me a warm cookie, I finally understood something Martha had always known:
Love was never in my parents’ wealth.
It was always in the people they thought were beneath them.
