I turned toward her.
“Those girls are my daughters.”
For a moment, Cordelia looked as though she hadn’t understood the words.
Then her expression twisted.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!” she repeated, louder this time. “That’s impossible. You would have known.”
“I should have known.”
She stared at me.
Then she looked toward the stage, where Chloe and Sophie were receiving congratulations from the judges.
“You’re telling me those two girls are yours?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me stand here while everyone watched Penelope lose to them?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“I’m worried about our family!”
“Your concern appears to begin and end with Penelope’s ranking.”
Cordelia’s mouth fell open.
For years, I had indulged her demands.
I had funded Penelope’s private tutors, paid for expensive academic camps, and arranged introductions to influential educators.
I had never questioned how much of that support was meant to help Penelope and how much was meant to preserve Cordelia’s reputation.
