“No, Mark, leave them!” Patricia interrupted with false tenderness. They’re just kids. What’s more, I’m going to play with you!
Over the next few minutes, the woman ran and threw balloons, perfectly playing the role of the loving and rolled stepmother. Marcos looked at them from the shore, smiling excited. He was convinced that he had given his children, orphans of a mother after a tragic car accident that occurred five years ago, the best possible family.
But as soon as Patricia ran out, she took her bag and entered the house with the excuse of taking a bath. Doña Coralina, her mother, saw her draining water through the marble corridors and immediately followed her to the bedroom. As soon as the fine wooden door closed, Patricia’s mask fell apart.
“I can’t stand these schools anymore!” he shouted, throwing his expensive bag at the armchair. Look how they left me! Hours in the beauty salon today for these insolent brats to ruin my tan.
Coralina went to the closet, pulled out a plush towel and began drying her daughter’s hair with a millimeter-calculated calm.
“Don’t worry, my child. You have to control yourself, you can’t spoil all our work now.
“I thought when I married Marcos I had the lottery,” Patricia bellowed, dropping hard. But these two of packages are coming. We are not going anywhere alone, we do not have dinner in peace, we do not travel without childcare. And worst of all, Mom: they’re growing. In a few years they will be of legal age, they will waste their father’s fortune, take over the house and they will leave me on the street after everything I did to catch that millionaire idiot.
Coralina left the towel, took a brush and began to comb it rhythmically. Then, she stood in front of her daughter and looked her straight in the eye with a freezing smile.
Don’t worry about the inheritance, my princess. Those brats aren’t even going to make it to eighteen.
Patricia frowned, you stunned.
What do you mean, Mom?
