Chapter 48 - 47 Spoiled But Never Rotten

Chapter 48: Chapter 47 Spoiled But Never Rotten

I should have known something was wrong the moment Anastelle stopped looking at me whenever I told her to behave.

It had started with little things. The way she had started correcting the staff. The way she would wrinkle her nose when someone served her something she didn’t like. The way she had stopped asking before taking things because, apparently, everything in Laziel’s house belonged to her now.

At first, I had laughed. She was five. She was excited. She had gone from sharing one bedroom with me in our tiny apartment to sleeping in a room bigger than our entire old home.

She had gone from one torn teddy bear to an entire toy room.

She had gone from asking me whether we could afford ice cream to having staff ask her which flavor she wanted.

Of course she was adjusting. But watching her birthday party today, surrounded by children wearing expensive little dresses and playing with toys that probably cost more than everything I owned before meeting Laziel, I realized something.

She wasn’t just adjusting. She was changing.

"Mommy!" I looked down. Anastelle was running toward me, her fluffy princess dress bouncing around her legs. "Look!" She held up a tiny silver crown. "They said I’m the princess."

I smiled despite myself. "You are a princess today."

"Today?" She looked offended.

I laughed. "Okay. Okay. You’re a princess every day."

"Good." She put the crown on her head and ran away again. I shook my head. Spoiled little thing.

But I couldn’t bring myself to be angry. Not yet. She deserved to enjoy this.

For most of her life, Anastelle had known what it meant to have less.

She had known what it meant to ask me before touching something in a shop because I might not be able to buy it.

She had known what it meant to sleep beside me while the rain leaked through the window of our tiny apartment.

She had known what it meant to own one teddy bear and treat it like a treasure. And now? There was a pony in the garden. A real pony. There were princesses walking around. There was enough food on the tables to feed our entire old neighborhood. And there were toys everywhere. So I let her enjoy it.

I was standing near the garden when I noticed a group of children coming through the gate. My smile appeared immediately. I recognized them. Children from our old neighborhood. The same children Anastelle used to play with. Clara. Sophie. Mia. And a few others. Their mothers had brought them along after receiving invitations. I smiled. "Anastelle!"

She turned at the sound of her name. Then her eyes landed on them. Her old friends waved excitedly. "Anastelle!" One little girl ran toward her. "Anastelle!"

Anastelle smiled. For half a second, I thought she was going to run toward them. Instead, she looked down at her dress. Then at the girl. Then back at her dress. She stepped backward.

The little girl stopped. "Hi," she said shyly.

ed. "Hi," she said shyly. Anastelle didn’t answer.

"Anastelle." She glanced at me. "Come say hello."

She looked back at the children. They were smiling at her. One of them held a small doll. I remembered that doll. It used to be one of Anastelle’s favorite things. She would stare through their windows whenever they played with it.

I had once promised her that one day I’d buy her something similar. I never did. I couldn’t afford it.

Anastelle slowly turned away and walked back toward the pony. My eyebrows pulled together. "Anastelle?" She ignored me. I followed her. "Baby." She kept walking. "Don’t you remember Clara?"

She stopped. I crouched beside her. "She used to play with you."

Anastelle stared at me. "No, Mommy." I blinked. "What do you mean, no?"

"They’re not my friends anymore." My stomach dropped. "Why?"

"They were never my friends."

I stared at her. "Anastelle." She looked away. I stood. "Come here." She didn’t move. "Anastelle, come here." She finally turned around. I lowered my voice. "What’s wrong with you?"

Her little face changed. She looked almost annoyed. "Nothing."

"You’ve been ignoring those children since they arrived."

"They’re not my friends."

"You used to play with them."

"No."

"Yes, you did."

She shook her head. "No, Mommy."

I stared at her

. She looked toward the children again. One of the girls had started walking toward us. "Anastelle!" She smiled. "Can I see your dress?"

She reached for the skirt. Anastelle immediately pulled away. "Don’t touch it."

The girl froze. "Why?"

"You’ll ruin it."

My mouth fell open. "Anastelle!"

She looked at me. The little girl looked down at her own dress. It wasn’t dirty. It wasn’t ugly. It simply wasn’t expensive.

"I won’t ruin it," she said quietly.

Anastelle crossed her arms. "You might."

I grabbed her hand. "That’s enough."

"But Mommy—"

"Apologize."

"No."

"Anastelle." She looked at the girl. "I’m sorry." It didn’t sound like she meant it. The girl nodded awkwardly and walked away. I waited until she was gone. Then I turned to my daughter. "What was that?"

Anastelle frowned. "What?"

"You don’t speak to people like that."

"They were mean to me first.

My expression changed. "What?"

She looked down at her shoes. "When we used to play."

My anger softened for a second. "What did they do?"

"They didn’t let Teddy come to their tea party." I swallowed.

She continued. "They said my teddy was ugly."

I remembered. Of course I remembered. That old teddy bear. The one with the torn ear. The one I had sewn back together so many times that the stitches were practically part of its body. Anastelle had cried that day. I had held her in my arms and told her Teddy was beautiful.

"They said Teddy would ruin their dolls’ dresses."

I crouched down again. "Baby..."

"And they said I couldn’t touch their dolls." Her little voice became quieter. "So now they can’t touch mine."