Her house was massive\u2014ten million dollars of white stone and glass with a gate that buzzed before it opened. I had to walk up the driveway slowly, gripping the bag of oranges, afraid the security camera would flash red and deny me entry. But it did not. Not that day.<\/p>\n
I rang the bell. I waited. And when the door opened, I froze.<\/p>\n
She looked like a painting. Not my daughter. Not the girl I raised on food stamps and bedtime stories, but someone else entirely. She wore a white blazer, perfectly tailored. Her lips were painted a shade of crimson that made her look like she had never known hunger. Her eyes\u2014my eyes\u2014looked at me with a fear so quick it passed in a blink, replaced instantly by something sharper.<\/p>\n
Contempt.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d she hissed, her voice low, urgent, panicked. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you call first? You can\u2019t be here.\u201d<\/p>\n
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