Leah
Ella’s voice cut through the fading applause like a shard of glass.
“I told you, Mother! You didn’t believe me! That woman isn’t Leah!”
The words landed sharp and ugly in the sudden hush. Heads turned. Whispers rustled like dry leaves. I felt the shift in the air—curiosity sharpening into suspicion, amusement tipping toward unease.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance her way.
Let her scream. Let the room wonder. The more she ranted, the more she looked like the jealous, unraveling girl she truly was. Martha tried to hush her—low, frantic—but Ella shook her off, stomping one delicate heel against the marble.
Martha’s reply came quick and desperate. “Ella, enough. You’re upset, I understand, but stop this nonsense. Leah’s been with us since she was a child. How could she not be he
