“Alright, we’ll wait for her,” replied Sandra Navarro, the woman in the dark blue dress.

But the worry in her eyes lingered.

“Bringing her home now… Is it too soon?” she murmured under her breath.

In just 72 hours, so much had happened—spotting Fiorella in the news, the DNA test, the reunion, and finally bringing her home. It didn’t feel real.

She had worried about whether Fiorella could adjust, but she couldn’t wait any longer.

She wanted the world to know Fiorella was hers.

No one could have guessed her daughter had been lost for so long.

Sandra thought back to when Fiorella stepped through the door. The shock hit her all over again.

Fiorella looked messy, just another kid from a poor family. But her features left no doubt.

“Mom, don’t say that,” Jamila said, interrupting Sandra’s thoughts.

She lowered her head, her voice gentle but edged with hurt. “My sister’s back. That’s what matters.”

Sandra glanced at her, and guilt settled in.

“Silly me. I still have you, don’t I?”

“Mom, even though we’re not related by blood, you’ve always been my mother. Even if we don’t live together anymore, that won’t change.”

Jamila’s words touched her deeply.

After today, the two girls might go back to their real families.

Sandra thought about all the years they had spent together and about how sweet Jamila had always been. She hesitated.

Just as she was about to speak, a figure stepped into the hall.

Immediately, whispers filled the place.

“Is that Fiorella? The Huertas’ real daughter?”

Hearing this, Jamila assumed Fiorella had shown up in that ridiculous dress.

She turned, expecting something amusing, but stopped short.

Fiorella stood straight at the entrance in her school uniform. The fabric was wrinkled, but her face glowed with youthful confidence.

Her clothes didn’t fit in here, yet something about her made up for it.

Jamila froze.

“She’s not wearing the dress? And her makeup actually looks decent. What were those makeup artists even doing? That’s not what I told them,” she thought angrily.

A few seconds later, Jamila snapped out of it.

She hurried forward and grabbed Fiorella’s hand, putting on a concerned look. “Fiorella, where’s your dress? Why aren’t you wearing the one I picked?”

She tried to sound genuinely worried, but Fiorella felt a slight tremor in her grip.

Fiorella gave a small smile and pulled her hand away.

“I was afraid I’d ruin it. I couldn’t afford that, so I wear this instead.”

Her voice was quiet, careful, almost pitiful.

“She actually knows she’s fat,” Jamila thought, burning with anger.

But she forced herself to stay calm, softening her tone. “Don’t be silly. Those dresses were meant for you. Even if something happens, no one’s gonna make you pay for it. They’re high-quality and won’t just fall apart.”

Then, an idea hit her. “Or you just don’t like that dress, huh? Oh, I see. It cost just over 3,000 dollars. Too cheap for you, right? You must want something nicer. I’ll take you to my room. There’s plenty to choose from. Pick whatever you want.”

Just like that, Jamila twisted Fiorella’s hesitation into greed.