And sitting on the sofa, playing a Nintendo Switch with the volume turned up loud, was a boy I recognized from Lily’s class photos. Max.
Richard looked up as I entered. He hadn’t changed much in ten years. He was still handsome in a slick, predatory way. Expensive suit, expensive watch, cheap soul. He was the man who had dated me in law school for a semester before dumping me for a heiress because I “lacked ambition and pedigree.”
“Elena?” Richard blinked, then a slow, nasty smirk spread across his face. He looked me up and down. I was wearing jeans and a simple blouse—I had rushed to the hospital from my day off. To him, I looked like exactly what he expected: a nobody.
“Well, well,” Richard chuckled, taking a sip of the Principal’s coffee. “I heard your kid took a tumble. Clumsy. Just like her mother used to be.”
He turned to the Principal. “See, Higgins? This is what I was talking about. You let in these scholarship cases, these single moms, and all you get is drama. They trip over their own feet and then look for a payout.”
I felt the anger burn hotter, but my face remained a mask of stone. I didn’t look at Richard. I looked at the boy.
“Max,” I said clearly. “Did you push Lily down the stairs?”
Max didn’t pause his game. “So what? She was in my way.”
“She has a broken arm, Max. And a concussion.”
“Boo hoo,” Max sneered, mimicking his father’s tone perfectly. “My dad will pay for her band-aid. Now get out, you’re blocking the TV.”
