Evander shot up from the couch, the irritation in his chest flaring like a live wire. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Lydia, his jaw tight and his lips pressed into a thin line. He broke the silence with a tone as sharp as a knife.
"You're really shameless, aren't you?" he said coldly, his voice dripping with disdain. "How dare you say you miss us? You, the one who abandoned us. You left us like we were nothing."
Her surprise faded quickly, leaving behind a stubborn glint in her eyes. She stood her ground, her posture tense but proud. "I was eighteen, Evander," she countered, her voice trembling slightly but firm. "I was eighteen when I gave birth to Ashton. Do you think I was ready to be a mother at such a young age? To throw away my youth, my dreams, just like that?"
