Each word felt like a blow. Annabelle's heart sank, but she stood her ground, her fingers tightening around the hem of her shirt.
"She's not a freeloader. She's a mother who needed her daughter," she said, voice trembling but firm as she met the eyes of the snickering crowd.
Martin scoffed and gestured for the girl on his lap to move. Then, with his usual haughty expression, he strode toward Annabelle.
"I don't believe you. I called your house and they said you weren't there," he said flatly, and her stomach dropped.
"I… I had to leave early to make it here in time," she stammered, flinching under his gaze.
He leaned closer, scanning her as if he could smell lies. Her familiar perfume lingered, but his suspicion didn't fade.
"Why didn't you answer my calls or texts?" he demanded.
Caught off guard, Annabelle scrambled for something that sounded reasonable. "The station was packed and noisy. I didn't hear my phone ringing."
