Penelope Blossom’s voice cuts through Thornhill like a blade.

“You continue to embarrass this family,” she says coldly, eyes fixed on Cheryl like she’s something to be corrected. “Your behavior is indulgent, reckless, and utterly unbecoming.”

Cheryl stands tall, chin lifted—but you can see it. The way her shoulders tense. The way she’s bracing for impact like she’s done a thousand times before.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Cheryl snaps.

Penelope smiles thinly. “You exist because of my generosity. Don’t forget that.”

That’s when you step forward.

“Actually,” you say, voice steady, “that’s not true.”

Both of them turn to look at you—Penelope with surprise, Cheryl with alarm.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” you continue. “Not like she’s a burden. Not like she hasn’t survived more than most people ever should.”

Penelope scoffs. “And who are you to speak on matters of this family?”

“Someone who sees what you refuse to,” you reply. “She’s strong. She’s brilliant. And the only thing unbecoming here is the way you tear her down to feel powerful.”

The room goes dead silent.

Cheryl stares at you like she can’t quite breathe.

Penelope’s expression hardens. “You are no longer welcome in this house.”

“Fine,” you say. “But I’m not leaving her.”

For a moment, Cheryl looks stunned. Then Penelope turns sharply and exits, heels echoing down the hall like a final threat.

The door slams.

Cheryl doesn’t speak right away.

She just stands there, eyes glossy, lips parted—like she’s trying to process what just happened.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally says.