My father had preserved it with painstaking care for twenty years, waiting for the day I took over the Pruitt branch in Monterra City and finally put it on.
I clutched my shoulders and staggered to my feet,
shaking uncontrollably from the icy cold soaking through every layer.
Brent glanced in my direction, something shifting behind his eyes that I couldn't place.
After a few seconds of silence, he pulled Gloria into his arms and murmured,
"Gloria, that thing on her isn't anything special. The style went out of fashion ages ago."
"Besides, it's drenched in dirty water. You'll catch a chill if you put it on. Let's forget about that one. I'll take you to get a brand-new—"
"No!"
Gloria wrenched herself out of his arms,
and the tears came all at once.
"I want hers! You won't give it to me because you feel sorry for her, is that it? She matters more to you than I do, doesn't she?!"
"No, I just meant it's ugly and it's wet..."
"I think it's beautiful! I don't care if it's wet, I want it!"
Brent went rigid for two seconds.
"You do feel sorry for her..."
"I don't!"
He snapped it out without hesitation, then turned on his heel to face me, his voice dropping cold.