Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 4

Jeffrey’s face turned ashen. He gritted his teeth and forced out a single word: “Yes.”

As the word hung in the air, a wave of murmurs and whispers swept through the guests.-

“Their own daughter gets kidnapped, and they’re here celebrating the foster daughter’s birthday? Have the Spencers lost their minds?”

“I heard the real daughter was raised in some slum. She’s rough around the edges, not very likable. The foster daughter, on the other hand, is engaged to Mr. Gonzalez, the tech billionaire.”

“So, the secret to social climbing isn’t educating your kids, it’s swapping them with a wealthy family at birth. Even if the truth comes out, they’re so attached they’ll still treat the counterfeit like a priceless gem. Pathetic.”

…

The Spencers’ expressions grew darker and more strained with every passing comment.

Before the situation could spiral further out of control, Teresa hurried to Yvonne’s side and wrapped an arm around her, her voice dripping with contrived concern. “That’s enough. All that matters is that you’re back safe. Come, let’s get you upstairs and into a proper dress. Today is your sister’s birthday, but it can be yours too.”

Yvonne looked at the woman before her—her biological mother, with her perfect makeup and elegant demeanor—and could only find it laughable.

Her own daughter was kidnapped and nearly raped and killed, and her reward was the ‘honor’ of sharing a birthday party with the impostor.

Teresa led Yvonne upstairs to her room.

It wasn't small, complete with its own bathroom and walk-in closet. But it was situated on the north side of the house, a place where the sun never reached.

Yvonne stood before the full-length mirror, staring at the reflection.

She actually knew this girl.

Five years ago, when Yvonne was an intern at a local police precinct, her very first case was this girl’s.

Her foster mother had beaten her to within an inch of her life, and she’d been rushed to the hospital. It was the doctors who had called the police.

Teresa’s impatient voice called from outside the door.

Yvonne snapped back to the present. She took the gown that had been prepared for her from its hanger and slipped it on.

When she reappeared, her long hair was pinned up, revealing the scars that marred the skin on her arms and back, exposed by the low-cut evening gown.

Years of abuse from her foster mother had left her with scars that would never fade. She had never dared to wear dresses, always covering herself from head to toe, terrified of revealing her painful past.

Teresa had once scolded her for it, calling her uncouth and unpresentable.

“Yvonne, Mom and Dad have invited so many guests, we should get back to the party… Oh! Yvonne, what… what happened to your skin? Are you sick?”

Queena took Yvonne’s hand, then gasped and covered her mouth in feigned shock at the sight of her scars.