Chapter 3
From inside the room, Richard's muffled, angry growl echoed out.
He shouted, "Vivian, care to explain what the hell this is?"
Vivian flinched at his outburst.
The second she recognized the chat screenshot on the phone—avatars blurred, but still enough to know it was hers—her face went dead white.
She snatched the phone, furious and humiliated from being exposed.
She shot back, "You went through my phone? Who gave you the right to read my messages? That's my privacy."
Richard was shaking with rage, shoving the phone screen right in her face.
He asked, "Then tell me, what do you mean by 'clueless ATM'? And what's all this 'nanny for an upscale family' talk? Who taught you to say stuff like this?"
Vivian's eyes flickered over the mean words she'd typed, her gaze uneasy.
Still, she refused to back down, defensively shifting all the blame onto me.
She jabbed her finger right at me—there I was, just standing in the doorway—her voice dripping with resentment and accusation.
She yelled, "Am I wrong?
"Ever since you remarried, you've listened to her about everything. It's like I'm not even your daughter anymore."
She grew more upset as she spoke, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.
She added, "I used to be your little girl. But now, all you ever do is take her side and yell at me. You don't love me at all. It's only that phony woman you care about."
"Shut up," Richard snapped.
Veins bulged at his temples as he raised his hand, looking like he was about to strike.
But in the end, he forced himself to hold back, his hand trembling violently in the air.
Vivian's cries turned even more hysterical, like she was the ultimate victim of some huge injustice.
She cried, "Go ahead. Hit me just for her. You two are the real family, and I'm nothing but an extra. If Mom were still around, she'd never let you treat me like this.
"You're both liars, so pretentious and disgusting!"
With that, she shoved past Richard, barreling toward the front door as if she'd completely lost control.
"Vivian, stop right there," Richard hollered, stunned and furious.
But Vivian didn't even look back. She yanked the door open and dashed out in her slippers, vanishing into the night, her sobs and footsteps quickly fading into the darkness.
Richard made a move to run after her, but I gently grabbed his arm and stopped him.
I stared at the wide-open door and the deserted hallway outside. Whatever warmth I had left inside me had just turned cold.
Those hateful things she screamed were still ringing in my ears.
My voice was eerily calm, carrying the flat, clear exhaustion of a heart that had already given up.
I said, "Let it go, Richard. She's not a little kid anymore. She knows exactly what she's doing, and she knows just the right words to cut deep.
"She didn't run out because she feels guilty. She's just convinced that if she makes enough of a scene, we'll end up caving and trying to comfort her all over again."
I let go of his arm and turned back to the living room. I picked up the shopping bag with the Chanel dress from the couch. It still felt fancy, but it also felt bitterly ironic.
I muttered, "If she thinks everything I do is just scheming, brown-nosing, or putting on a show..."
I took a deep breath and put the bag down on the coffee table.
Then I added, my voice cold and final, "From today on, like she wants, I won't bother with any of it anymore."