CLARA'S POV.
I let the taxi drive away from the neighborhood of the Lucero family home as far as possible. I told the driver to take me anywhere.
"I need a quiet place," I told the driver.
On the way, I kept crying. It had been 10 years since I'd lived in the Lucero household, and this was the first time Adrian had lashed out at me with such hurtful words just because a large painting of Mrs. Maria Lucero had fallen and torn. Even though it was clearly not my fault, but Hailey's.
Luckily, the taxi driver, who was the same age as my late father, was a good guy.
"I'll take you to the quiet place you want," he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "My name is Robert Dawson."
"My name is Clara. Thank you for your help, Uncle," I said.
During the journey, Robert listened faithf
