Zane
I didn't understand why they asked if I "realized who they were." Don't they even know who they are? Or are they just fools?
Of course I didn't know them—I was meeting them for the first time. Am I supposed to magically know who they are?
"Look," I said, stepping closer, my voice sharp and unyielding, "I don't care who you are. Get on your knees—you and your kids—and apologize to my babies right now."
Of course they should apologize. These parents and their children had all done wrong, and my kids didn't deserve a single second of their accusations.
"Honey, he's looking down on us — and you're just listening to him? Don't you have anything to say?" the woman hissed, hooking her fingers into her husband's arm from behind as if to egg him on.
"How dare a beggar like you act all high and mighty, and your kids—"
He didn't finish. My hand flew before his words could. The slap landed hard across his cheek, my fingers leaving a bright imprint.
