It seemed Isabella’s parents were about to leave when Emma George, flustered, called out, “Wait, please—don’t go just yet! I haven’t finished—let me explain…”
Unable to resist her curiosity any longer, Emily Blair poked her head out for a better look.
Isabella’s parents stood with stern faces, their cold gazes fixed on Emma George.
“So, you’re claiming to be Cynthia—that biological mother?” Isabella’s father asked, his tone icy.
Emma nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s me. That’s why I came to find you. I’m not a fraud. I’m telling you the truth—every word.”
Isabella’s parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable.
After a pause, Isabella’s father reached into his suit’s inside pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. “I have somewhere to be. If you have more to say, contact me later.”
Emma took the card gingerly. “When… when is a good time to reach you?”
Buttoning his jacket, Isabella’s father’s tone dropped even lower. “And your card?”
“My business card?” Emma hesitated. “I… I don’t have one.”
She dug through her purse and fished out a scrap of paper, scribbling her name and number before handing it over. “Here—will this do?”
He took the paper, barely glancing at it. Suddenly, his eyes froze and his brow furrowed as he looked up, expression darkening.
“You’re Emma George?”
Emma nodded again. “Yes, I am.”
At that, Isabella’s mother’s face changed sharply. She stepped closer to her husband to see the note for herself.
Isabella’s father, unwilling to believe it, pressed, “You’re Emily Blair’s mother?”
Emma’s face went pale. She nodded, her voice strained. “Yes, but there’s something I need to tell you about her—”
Another look passed between Isabella’s parents.


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