My Harvard-Law Mom Slapped Me Over 3×4—So I Stripped Away Her Elite Title Overnight Chapter 06

My Harvard-Law Mom Slapped Me Over 3×4—So I Stripped Away Her Elite Title Overnight Chapter 06

Mom stepped back half a step.

“Dad, don’t jump to conclusions. Nora has always been picky. She won’t eat—”

“Did you feed her?” Grandma’s voice came from behind.

Everyone turned.

Grandma wiped her tears and walked over slowly.

“Last New Year’s, you brought them for seven days. I cooked something different every day. Nora ate bowl after bowl.”

“Would a picky eater eat like that? She wasn’t getting enough at home.”

Grandma’s voice shook. “You didn’t let her eat.”

Mom stood frozen. Her mouth twitched.

“Mom, that’s not fair. I work so hard raising two kids—”

“You?” Grandpa scoffed.

“Connor goes to private school. Twenty thousand dollars a year. He has a driver. What about Nora? Which school did you send her to?”

“The public school nearby. It’s fine—”

“Four bus stops. A six-year-old takes the bus alone.”

Grandpa’s eyes were red.

“Ryan told me that. I thought he was joking.”

He glanced back at Dad.

“It doesn’t look like a joke now.”

Dad stood in the middle of the hallway like a hollow log.

“Dad, Susan has her own philosophy about parenting—”

“Shut up.”

Grandpa slammed his fist against the wall. The echo made my ears ring.

A passing nurse stopped and stared.

“Your daughter is in there. We don’t know if she’ll live or die. And you’re still defending this woman?”

Dad’s mouth closed. I couldn’t read his expression behind those glasses.

I floated above his head.

“Dad. Do you think I’m a loser too?”

He couldn’t hear.

He never heard.

Around noon, a young woman ran breathlessly into the hospital lobby.

She wore a dark green winter coat. Her scarf was crooked. Her hair was a mess.

I recognized her immediately.

Ms. Taylor.

She rushed to the nurses’ station. “Nora Miller. Six years old. Car accident last night. Which room?”

The nurse pointed.

Ms. Taylor ran toward the ER, carrying a big envelope.

I floated after her. Inside the envelope were my drawings, my schoolwork, and a certificate from a singing competition.

When Grandma saw Ms. Taylor, she grabbed her like a lifeline.

“Ms. Taylor. Nora is—”

Ms. Taylor’s eyes welled up. “I saw the news. I called the school for the address. How is she?”

“They’re still fighting to save her.” Grandma couldn’t finish.

Ms. Taylor bit her lip and opened the envelope. She pulled out a stack of drawings.

“Nora drew these at school. I saved them.”

“She’s so talented. Drawing. Singing. Last time, at the city children’s singing competition, she won gold.”

“What?” Mom’s voice cut in.

Everyone looked at her.

“Gold? When? I never knew.”

Ms. Taylor looked at Mom. Her expression went cold.

“Ms. Miller, the competition was three months ago. I called you four times. You never answered.”

“Later, I texted you. You replied with one word.”

She pulled out her phone and read: “Stop wasting my child’s time on useless things.”

The hallway was silent for a few seconds.

Ms. Taylor took a breath.

“Nora was so happy the day she won. She said she wanted to take the trophy home to show you.”

“When she came to school the next day, her palms were covered in red marks.”

She stared at Mom.

“She said she bumped herself. But Ms. Miller, I’ve been teaching for twelve years. I can tell the difference between a bump and a hit.”

Mom’s face went red, then white.

“What are you trying to say? You think you can tell me how to raise my own child?”

Ms. Taylor didn’t back down.

“I’m saying I’ve already filed a report with the school and the authorities.”

“When I saw the news today, I knew this wasn’t an accident.”

She handed the envelope to Grandpa.

“These are all of Nora’s schoolwork, her awards, and my observations from the past year.”

“Including dates and photos of every new injury I saw on her.”

Mom froze.