I opened my mouth to answer, but she did not give me the chance. Her tone sliced through me before I could even offer the oranges.

“Are you trying to ruin my career?” she snapped. “Do you know who I’m meeting today? The press is inside. Investors. People who think I came from nothing. People who believe my mother died when I was six.”

I stared at her. “What?”

She crossed her arms. “Do not look at me like that. You know what this is. You’re not part of my story anymore. You’re a liability.”

A liability. That was the word she used. Not mother, not visitor, not even mistake. A liability.

Then she leaned in, her voice trembling—not with sadness, but with rage. “Do not call me your daughter. I am the product of drive, of ambition. You—” she pointed at me like a stain “—you were a biological accident I clawed my way out of.”