Chapter 15
My father leaned heavily on a cane, his face deeply lined. Rosalie looked thin and frail, the spark of arrogance completely extinguished from her eyes.
“Hello,” I said calmly.
My father took a step forward.
“We saw you on stage. You… you look well.”
“I am.”
Rosalie could not meet my eyes. She stared at the marble floor.
“Dad had a stroke last year,” she whispered. “He needs full-time care. I had to quit my job to look after him.”
A cold wave of realization passed through me.
The golden child was now the nursemaid. The favored daughter was trapped in the very life she had mocked me for.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said politely, with complete detachment.
“Allera.” My father’s voice cracked. The old dictator was begging now. “We’re struggling. Rosalie’s savings are gone. Your business is doing so well. We’re family. We need your help.”
I looked at the man who had told me to accept a slap for a porcelain doll. I looked at the sister who had tried to take my husband and my son because she could not stand the thought of me having anything of my own.
The pool in my heart did not ripple.
It was glass.
“No,” I said softly.
My father’s face twisted in shock.
“What? You have millions. You would leave your own flesh and blood to rot?”
“You threw fifty dollars at me when I begged for an education,” I reminded him, my voice empty of malice, stating only facts. “You told me you didn’t owe me a damn thing. I learned my lesson, Dad. I don’t owe you anything either.”
“You selfish—” Rosalie hissed, suddenly looking up, her face warped by desperation. “You always had to win, didn’t you? You took David. You took the money. You took the kid.”
“I didn’t take David,” I corrected her. “You took him. And from what I hear, he left you the moment Dad got sick because he couldn’t handle the inconvenience. As for my son, I saved him.”
I turned my back on them.
“Allera!” my father shouted.
I didn’t stop walking.
I pushed open the double doors leading back into the auditorium. The lights were bright, the crowd was buzzing, and the air smelled of caramelized sugar and fresh pastry.
I returned to my seat at the center of the judges’ table.
In the front row, Sadi waved at me.
Beside her sat Leo, holding up a hand-drawn sign that read:
MY MOM IS THE BEST BAKER IN THE WORLD
He saw me looking and beamed, all bright sincerity and missing teeth.
I smiled back.
Then I picked up my fork and prepared for the next tasting.
I had built my own foundation, brick by brick, from flour and fire.
No one would ever slap me down again.