Chapter 85

It all happened so fast. Because Latisha made no sound when the pellet hit her, everyone assumed the boy was just playing.

“Latisha!” Clifford saw it all. He rushed to her side, steadying her as she swayed, dizzy with pain.

Only when Clifford shouted her name did the others turn and realize what had happened.

Yolanda grabbed Halston, pulling him into her arms with a show of sternness. "Stop fooling around!"

Halston struggled, trying to get another shot at Latisha, but his father, Reuben Vaughn, quickly intervened.

"Don't you dare,” Reuben said, trying to take the toy gun. Halston clutched it to his chest, refusing to let go.

"It's mine!"

Clifford gently pulled Latisha's hand away to inspect her eye. Luckily, the pellet had only hit the corner, but the entire eye was already bloodshot.

He turned his icy gaze on Halston, and the boy froze, too frightened to react.

Yolanda quickly stepped in, feigning concern as she glanced at Latisha's eye. "It looks fine. It's just a toy gun. It probably doesn't even hurt."

Latisha's eye was alarmingly red, with a faint blueish tinge already forming where she'd been hit.

Clifford shot a look at Yolanda. "And how would you know it doesn't hurt?”

"It's a tiny plastic pellet, Clifford. How much could it possibly hurt? I know you care about Latisha, but you can't seriously be picking a fight with a child."

"Should I pick one with you instead?" Clifford's voice was laced with scorn. "As his parent, how do you plan to handle this?"

Yolanda was speechless. She swallowed her anger and said, "It was just a toy gun. There's no need to..."

"There is a need," Clifford cut her off flatly.

"You..." Yolanda, unable to win

against him, turned to Wallace for support. "Dad, are you going to let him target us like this? We came all this way, and for what? If you didn't want to see us you shouldn' thave invited us. This isn't a family dinner; it's a trial. It's clear we're ust outsiders anyone can bully."

That was the last straw for Polly. "That's not fair, Yolanda. If we thought of you as outsiders, we wouldn't have invited you. I understand you're upset, but don't paint us all with the same brush. When have I ever mistreated you?"

"Enough! Haven't you all caused enough trouble?" Wallace roared, his own temper flaring. “Bickering over something so trivial! Should I set up a stage for you? I invite you for a meal, and suddenly it's my fault!"

His outburst silenced them. But in all his shouting, he never once mentioned Latisha being hurt. In the end, he didn't care, so it didn't matter.

"Now," Wallace demanded, “are we eating this dinner or not?"

Latisha stood silently, her head bowed. The skin around her eye throbbed. A plastic pellet might not seem like much, but it depended on where hit. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sting of being isolated and utterly dismissed by everyone.

"Is there any point in eating this meal now?" Clifford's voice was dangerously quiet. Wallace's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

Clifford met his father's gaze without flinching and repeated, word for word, "I said there's no point. Do you really think anyone can sit at a table and eat peacefully in this atmosphere?”

He had a point. The room was thick with resentment; the meal would be choked with

it.

Reuben stepped forward, trying to smooth things over. "It was a small

misunderstanding. We're all family. Let's not let something so minor ruin the evening."

"Minor?"