Peter leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “They can stay at a hotel,” he said casually, as though discussing the weather. Cindy blinked, certain she’d misheard. “What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why can’t they stay here? We have the space.”
His tone hardened. “Cindy, we’re not running a charity. I’ll pay for the hotel—it’s better for everyone.” The words hit her like a slap. Her father was fighting for his life, and Peter’s indifference to her parents’ plight felt like a betrayal so deep it left her breathless.