CHAPTER 8: LIKE A DAUGHTER

*Hello, Auntie.*

Two small words. They landed on me like a slap.

I felt the blood leave my face. Under the table, Damien's fingers closed tighter around mine, hard enough to hurt a little. I was glad. It was the only thing that told me I was still in my body.

Sabrina stood in the doorway in her tight white dress, one hand on her stomach, her eyes shining like she was about to cry. She looked so soft. So sweet. If I did not know her, I would have felt sorry for her too.

That was the worst part. I did know her.

"Sabrina!" Celia jumped up from her chair so fast her pearls swung. "My dear girl, why did you come out in the cold? In your condition!"

She rushed across the room and wrapped both arms around her.

I watched it happen. The same woman who just called me a gold digger in front of fifteen people was now stroking Sabrina's hair like she was a lost lamb. Her voice was warm and soft. I had not heard that voice once since I met her. Not even at the engagement party.

"Come, come. Sit. Bring her a chair. Bring her warm milk. Quickly!"

Two maids ran. A cushion appeared on the chair next to Celia's. A glass of warm milk was placed in front of Sabrina before she even sat down.

I looked at my own glass of cold water. I did not even get a napkin that matched.

"I'm so sorry, Aunt Celia," Sabrina said, and her voice trembled in the perfect way. "I didn't want to make trouble. I know everyone is upset. I just... I couldn't stay at home. Ryan told me what happened, and I felt so guilty."

A tear rolled down her cheek. Just one. Slowly. I have never seen anyone cry so beautifully.

"Guilty!" Celia cried. "You have nothing to be guilty about!"

Ryan stood stiff behind Sabrina's chair. He did not look at me. His jaw was tight, his hands were in his pockets, and his eyes stayed on the floor. He looked like a man who had not slept in two nights. Once, just once, his eyes went to Damien and then away again, as if it hurt.

"Mother," he said. "You called. I came."

"Of course you did, my son."

Sabrina wiped her eyes with the corner of a napkin. Then she looked across the table at me, and her face went soft and sad, as if she was about to say something painful.

"Lila," she said gently. "I know you hate me."

The whole table went quiet. Everyone leaned in.

"And I understand. I would hate me too. You lost so much. I just hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive us. Ryan and I never meant to hurt you. It just... happened."

*It just happened.*

I could not believe my ears. Four months. For four months she hugged me at my door and ate my food and cried on my shoulder, and *it just happened.*

"She's too kind," an aunt whispered.

"Such a pure heart," said another.

"Look at how she's holding herself. And Lila just sits there. Not a single word."

I opened my mouth, but my throat had closed. What could I say? That she was lying? That she took everything? They would say I was jealous. They would say I was bitter. They had already decided who I was.

"Lila." My mother leaned toward me. Her voice was low and sweet, but it had a sharp edge underneath. "Look at her. She is carrying a child. Show a little kindness."

I turned my head slowly. "Mom."

"She is your friend."

"She was in bed with my fiancé."

"Lila!" She grabbed my wrist under the table, her nails pressing in. "Not here. Don't be dramatic. What happened was between young people. We should all try to move on."

Move on.

Like I had dropped a plate. Like it was an accident.

"Sabrina is like a daughter to me," she went on, loud enough for the whole table to hear, and she smiled at Sabrina across the room. Sabrina smiled back, small and grateful.

*Like a daughter.*

I sat very still.

I had grown up in that woman's house. I ate her food. I wore her old clothes. I did every single thing she asked, for twenty-five years, just to hear her say something like that about me. And she said it about the girl who stabbed me in the back.

Something inside my chest cracked. I felt it. A thin, quiet line, running from top to bottom, like a plate that has already broken but has not fallen apart yet.

"Congratulations," said Damien.

Every head turned.

He had not moved. He was still sitting beside me, his hand still in mine, his face as blank as stone. But his eyes were fixed on Sabrina. Flat. Cold. Like he was looking at a number on a page.

"To you both," he said. "I hope the child is healthy."

It was a perfect sentence. Polite. Even kind. But the way he said it made the air in the room drop by ten degrees.

For one small second, Sabrina's smile slipped. Only a flicker. Then it was back, shining and sweet.

"Thank you, Uncle," she said.

"Do not call me that."

"I'm sorry?"

"You will call me Mr. Ashford." He picked up his fork. "Until you are family."

Nobody breathed.

I did not hear the rest of the dinner. People talked. Dishes came and went. Celia laughed too loudly at something. My mother kept looking at me with warning eyes. But all of it felt far away, like it was happening on the other side of thick glass. My ears rang. My hands were cold. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

Under the table, Damien's thumb moved across my knuckles. Once. Then again.

I did not know if it was for the show. I only knew that I might fall apart if he stopped.

"Excuse me," I whispered, finally. I pulled my hand away. "I need the bathroom."

He looked at me. For one second, something almost like worry crossed his face. "Five minutes," he said.

I nodded and left.

The bathroom was bigger than my old bedroom. Marble floors. Gold taps. A mirror that went from the floor to the ceiling. I locked the door and turned on the water, and then I held the edge of the sink with both hands and looked at myself.

The woman in the mirror looked terrible. Her eyes were red. Her lips were pale. Her green silk dress was beautiful, and she did not belong in it.

*Like a daughter.*

I put my hand over my mouth. And then, finally, quietly, I let it come. The tears ran down my face without a sound. I cried for the mother who never really loved me. I cried for the father who looked at his shoes. I cried because I had stood up for myself tonight, for the first time in my life, and nobody cared.

I do not know how long I stood there.

Then I heard the door handle turn.

I froze. I had locked it. I was sure I had.

A small click. The door opened. Sabrina slipped in and closed it behind her, softly, the way you close a door on a sleeping baby.

She leaned against it and looked at me.

All the sweetness was gone. Her face was smooth and bored, her eyes cool, the corners of her mouth turned down. This was not the girl who cried in the dining hall. This was the girl I had never seen. Or maybe the one I never wanted to see.

"Wow," she said. "You look awful."

"Get out."

"Relax." She walked to the mirror next to me and took out a lipstick. "I only came to say well done. You stood up in front of everyone. It was so cute. Like a little mouse trying to roar."

"Get out, Sabrina."

"Why? I'm just talking." She smiled at herself in the glass and fixed her lip. "You think a big ring turns you into an Ashford? Everyone in that room knows why he picked you. You're useful. You're quiet. You're convenient. That's all you've ever been, Lila. Convenient."

I said nothing. I did not trust my voice.

She put the lipstick away. And then she turned to face me, very slowly, and her voice dropped to a whisper.