Rosé checked on her grandma, making sure she was comfortable. Her grandmother’s sister, who had come to help, reassured her that she would stay with her. That brought Rosé a small sense of relief.
Yesterday had been rough. A lady had slapped her, someone who looked like a spoiled brat, expecting the world to bow to her. But Rosé wasn’t the type to cry in a corner. She had returned the slap without hesitation.
She remembered the woman’s reaction clearly. “How dare you slap me? Do you know who I am? Do you know whose daughter I am?” the lady had demanded, her voice full of outrage and disbelief.
Rose, being Rose, had answered without fear. “I don’t care who the heck you are. You have no right to slap me just because I collided with you by mistake,” she said, her voice steady. Then she had
