You Are My Daughter
Guest.
Not Chloe.
Not even Caleb’s Girl this time, which at least contained the ghost of a relationship.
Just GUEST, in cold capital letters, the final and most naked version of the message Beatrice had been sending for three years.
I saw it at the exact same instant Caleb did, and I felt three years of swallowed anger come surging up my throat all at once.
My whole body tensed to leap out of my chair, to snatch that card up off the table and tear it in half in front of everyone, to finally, finally let Beatrice have every furious word I had been choking down since the day I married her son.
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