Glenwood stared at the girl. His cloudy eyes widened a fraction. The muscles around his mouth twitched in surprise.
He leaned his weight onto his cane and slowly walked forward. The rubber tip of his cane crunched over a piece of broken porcelain. He stopped exactly one step away from Cordelia.
Glenwood looked down. His eyes locked onto the dried blood smeared across the back of her small hand. His thick white eyebrows slammed together.
"What happened here?" Glenwood's voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.
Alton jumped forward, his hands waving in panic. "Father, she is clumsy. She knocked over the coffee and broke the cup, and then she had the nerve to talk back to-"
BANG.
Glenwood slammed his ebony cane against the marble floor. The noise cracked like a gunshot.
"Shut your mouth, Alton," Glenwood barked.
Alton's jaw snapped shut. He swallowed hard, stepping back.
Glenwood turned his attention back to Cordelia. The harsh lines on his face softened just a millimeter. "What is your name, child? And who taught you to curtsy like that?"
Cordelia did not look at her parents. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the old man.
"My name is Cordelia," she said. Her voice was steady, completely devoid of the tremor a normal child would have.
She paused, letting the silence stretch for one second. "It means 'daughter of the sea' in Latin. The woman who picked trash out of the dumpsters to feed me gave me that name."
A sharp, wet gasp ripped from Antoinette's throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her face turned the color of ash. The shame of hearing the word "trash" associated with her biological daughter felt like a physical slap to her face.
Glenwood's eyes darkened. A complex mix of guilt and intense curiosity swirled in his gaze.
"Do you not know that Antoinette is your real mother?" Glenwood asked softly.
Cordelia slowly turned her head. She looked at Antoinette. Her blue eyes were completely hollow. There was no longing. No sadness. Just ice.
"She is not my mother," Cordelia said. The words dropped from her lips like heavy stones. "She only cares about the sister who throws cups at people."
Antoinette staggered backward. Her knees buckled slightly, and she had to grab the wooden banister of the staircase to keep from falling. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.
Hallie saw her mother falter. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced out a loud wail. "She's a liar! Grandpa, she's lying!"
Glenwood slowly turned his head. He shot Hallie a single, lethal glare.
Hallie's mouth snapped shut. She choked on her own saliva, swallowing her fake sobs instantly.
The living room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone waited for the patriarch to pass judgment on the disrespectful girl.
But Cordelia was not finished.
She took a half-step forward. She deliberately closed the physical distance between herself and the old man, entering his personal space. She tilted her head up.
"Grandpa," Cordelia said, using the title with surgical precision. "I know the law says I have to return to this house."
She kept her voice low, but the acoustics of the room carried every syllable. "But the law does not say I have to be their punching bag."
Alton's face turned purple. The blood rushed to his head so fast his ears rang. He pointed a shaking finger at Cordelia. "You ungrateful little animal! I will teach you-"
Glenwood lifted his cane horizontally, blocking Alton's path. He did not look at his son. He kept his eyes on Cordelia. "Go on."
Cordelia took a deep breath. She let the air fill her lungs, preparing to drop the bomb she had calculated since the moment she woke up in this timeline.
"The law says I have to live here, but can I choose who takes care of me?" she stated.
The bold question hung in the air.
Leland choked on his own breath. He stared at the seven-year-old girl as if she had grown a second head.
Antoinette pressed both hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened, but a sick thrill of joy shot through her stomach. She thought she was finally going to be free of this embarrassment.
Alton felt his stomach drop. The humiliation burned his throat like stomach acid. His own flesh and blood was firing him in front of the head of the family. It was a direct attack on his authority as the heir.
Glenwood's grip on his cane tightened until his knuckles turned white. The shock in his eyes melted into a fierce, burning admiration.
The old man narrowed his eyes. "Do you even know what you are asking for? Who do you want to be your new guardian?"
