Margaret stopped abruptly, turning to face her stepdaughter with a scowl.
— Have you lost your senses, Emily? Those people are trouble. They’d likely spend any money you gave them on drugs or booze, she hissed, her tone dripping with contempt.
— You don’t know that! That man just shared his only meal. How can you be so heartless? Emily shot back, her voice shaking with righteous anger.
The argument drew curious glances from passersby. Emily, usually soft-spoken, felt a surge of courage. She pulled free from Margaret’s grip and took a resolute step toward the street.
— They’re people, Margaret. They deserve kindness, not judgment, she declared, her voice steadying.
Margaret seized her arm again, her manicured nails digging into Emily’s skin.
— You’re naive, Emily. These people chose this life. It’s not our job to fix them, she said, her tone patronizing.
— Chose? Nobody chooses to starve or sleep on the streets. How can you be so blind? Emily countered, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.
With a determined tug, Emily broke free and crossed the street to Caleb and his companions. Her hands shook as she pulled a few bills from her purse.
— Please, take this. I hope it helps, she said, offering the money to Caleb.
Their eyes met, a fleeting connection sparking between them.
— Thank you, miss. This means more than you know, Caleb replied, his voice heavy with gratitude.
— It’s nothing, really. I just wish I could do more, Emily murmured, feeling both relieved and helpless.
Margaret watched from afar, her expression a mix of fury and calculation. Her eyes narrowed on Caleb, sensing something beyond his ragged appearance. A scheme began to form in her mind, one that could address multiple issues at once.
Emily returned to the sidewalk, bracing for Margaret’s wrath. To her surprise, Margaret didn’t lash out. Instead, a cold smile curved her lips.
— Well, Emily, if you’re so keen on associating with these people, maybe it’s time you learned a lesson about them, she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
— What are you planning, Margaret? Emily asked, unease creeping into her tone.
As they walked away, Margaret cast a final glance at Caleb, her eyes glinting with a chilling resolve. Emily, lost in her thoughts about the encounter, didn’t notice. She replayed Caleb’s kindness, struck by the dignity he carried despite his circumstances.
— That man… there’s something special about him, don’t you think? Margaret remarked casually, her tone sending a shiver down Emily’s spine.
— Why the sudden interest? You wanted me to ignore him just minutes ago, Emily replied, suspicion lacing her words.
They reached their grand townhouse, and Margaret stormed inside, her heels echoing through the marble foyer. Emily followed, still unsettled by the day’s events.
Henry, Emily’s father, emerged from his study, concern etched on his face at the tense arrival. Margaret didn’t bother with pleasantries.
— Henry, your daughter is out of control. She was practically fraternizing with street rats today! Margaret exclaimed, her voice ringing with indignation.
Henry looked from Margaret to Emily, confusion clouding his features.
— Emily, is this true? he asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
— Dad, I was just helping someone in need. How is that wrong? Emily replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart.
Margaret grabbed Henry’s arm, pulling him into the study and shutting the door, leaving Emily outside. Their muffled argument seeped through the heavy wood.
— Don’t you see the risk, Henry? She’s dragging our name through the mud by associating with society’s dregs, Margaret fumed, her gestures sharp with anger.
Henry sank into his chair, rubbing his temples.
— Margaret, she’s got a good heart. We can’t punish her for that, he said weakly.
— A good heart? In this world, that’s a liability we can’t afford, Margaret snapped, her voice cutting like a knife.
The argument grew heated, with Margaret listing Emily’s recent “transgressions”—unapproved donations to charities, volunteering in low-income areas, skipping elite social events. Henry’s face paled as she continued.
— She’s jeopard, Henry, but she’s jeopard to the wrong people. She’s jeopard to those who’ll never be accepted in our circles, Margaret hissed.
— She’s my daughter, Margaret. I can’t change who she is, Henry protested, though his voice wavered with resignation.
Margaret paused her pacing, her eyes glinting with a dangerous calm.
— I have a plan, Henry. A plan that’ll solve two problems at once, she said, her voice steady and cold.
Henry straightened, wary of her tone.
— What kind of plan? he asked, dread creeping into his voice.
Margaret leaned forward, her smile sharp.
— That beggar Emily was so eager to help… what if we used him to show her how wrong she is about people like him? she said, her words dripping with malice.
— Margaret, what are you suggesting? Henry asked, a chill running through him.
Margaret stood, her shadow looming over him.
— Marriage, Henry. We’ll make Emily marry that beggar, she declared, her voice thick with cruel satisfaction.
Henry choked on his drink, his eyes wide with disbelief.
— You’ve lost it, Margaret. That’s monstrous, he stammered, rising from his chair.
— Monstrous? No, it’s necessary. What better way to teach Emily the harsh truth than to force her to live with someone like him? Margaret replied, her tone calculated.
Henry paced the study, running his hands through his graying hair.
— What about her happiness? My daughter deserves better than this, he argued, his voice firm despite his worry.
Margaret’s eyes hardened.
— Happiness? We’re talking about her future, Henry. Imagine the gossip, the judgment at our social events. Emily needs to learn the consequences of her reckless compassion, she said, each word heavy with conviction.
— This isn’t right, Margaret. Emily would never be ashamed of a simple man. She’s stronger than that, Henry countered, a flicker of pride in his voice.
Margaret laughed, a cold, hollow sound.
— Oh, Henry, you think she could handle it? She may be kind, but she’s still a girl raised in privilege. A few days with that beggar, and she’ll come running back to reality, she said, dismissing his concerns with a wave.
Henry leaned against the desk, his shoulders sagging.
— And the young man? How do we convince him to go along with this charade? he asked, skepticism lacing his words.
— Money, Henry. We’ll offer him a sum he can’t refuse. For someone like him, it’ll be irresistible, Margaret replied confidently.
Silence settled over the study, thick and heavy. Henry stared into space, torn between love for his daughter and fear of social ruin.
— I don’t know, Margaret. This feels too far. Can’t we just talk to her? he murmured, doubt heavy in his voice.
Margaret stepped closer, her tone softening but firm.
— Words won’t work, Henry. Emily needs to see the truth for herself. Sometimes, we must be harsh to protect those we love, she said, her voice a blend of persuasion and manipulation.
— But forcing a marriage? Toying with her life like this? There has to be another way, Henry protested, his gaze revealing his inner turmoil.
He moved to the window, staring out at the city beyond, a world full of pitfalls for his beloved daughter. With a heavy sigh, he turned to Margaret.
— This won’t end well. You’re underestimating Emily’s convictions, he said, his voice thick with concern.
Margaret crossed her arms, irritation flashing in her eyes.
— Your hesitation is why she’s spiraling, Henry. Sometimes, tough choices are necessary to protect her reputation, she snapped.
As the sun dipped below the city skyline, casting hues of amber and rose, Caleb sat on a weathered bench in a nearby park, watching the world pass by. An elegant figure approached, out of place in the gritty surroundings. Margaret, in a tailored coat and stilettos, stopped before him, her cold gaze appraising him.