That was the knife twist—not because I wanted his money, but because he genuinely believed I had none.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a slim black folder, and set it on the table.
“What’s that?” Lorraine demanded.
“Just something I brought,” I said. “Since finances seem to matter so much.”
Inside were documents: my business registrations, income summaries, brand portfolios, and screenshots from my dashboards. I slid them across the table.
Lorraine’s eyes widened on page one.
Her jaw dropped on page two.
“This… this can’t be right,” she whispered.
Mark seized the papers. “Ninety thousand… a month?”
Daniel stared at me as if seeing a stranger. “Why… why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because,” I said gently, “I wanted to know how you treated someone you assumed had nothing.”
Silence wrapped around the room like a heavy blanket.
Lorraine recovered first, her tone flipping instantly.
“Oh sweetheart, we didn’t mean anything earlier—we were just being protective!”
I met her gaze. “Good parents don’t insult people based on their perceived income.”
Daniel reached for my hand. “Babe, I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t defend me,” I whispered. “Not once.”
