Ivanka laughed softly but this time, there was nothing light about it. There was certainty in her tone, a conviction built over far too many years to be shattered by a few words of defiance.
"Do you really think," she said, tilting her head slightly, "that speaking like that… will make everything turn out fine?"
Valerie stopped walking.
She did not turn around at once. Her gaze fell to the marble floor beneath her feet, its cold lines painfully real, as if grounding her, keeping her from wavering.
"Whether it turns out fine or not," Valerie finally replied, her voice low but steady, "is none of your concern."
Ivanka laughed again, this time more clearly. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching Valerie's back with a look that was not angry but pitying.
"You always speak like that," she said. "As if you still have room to choose."
Valerie turned slowly.
"I speak like this," Ivanka continued, her tone lowering, almost gentle, "because I pity you."
