Inside, the home… It was a picture of domestic perfection: a warm hearth, the smell of fresh food, and soft laughter that ignored the cold street outside.
The father, the same man who had stood by while his firstborn was cast out, laughed as he lifted his city daughter. He kissed her forehead with a tenderness that felt like a physical insult. Beside him, the mother smoothed her son's hair, her face glowing with a warmth she had denied to Hoppy.
Maddy whispered, her voice thick with disgust.
"A perfect family…"
The contrast was sickening. Inside, there was silk and comfort; outside, just a few feet away, Hoppy's torn hair still lay in the dirt. Every smile shared at that table was built on the betrayal of a child who had done nothing wrong.
This peace was a mockery. To these people, Hoppy was a mistake to be buried, but to Maddy, she was the only thing in this city that mattered.
