My throat burned. “But… what about me? I’m your wife.”
Oliver sneered. “And why should that matter? You haven’t contributed a single thing to this family’s success. You have no money, no business, no class. Look at you—no decent clothes to wear, your body getting bigger every day from eating too much. Do you know how embarrassing it would be to bring you in front of my business partners? Beatrice shines. You’re just… trash.”
My knees wobbled. My chest tightened. “It’s because of the stress… I’ve been working too much in the house. I’m tired—”
“So now you’re blaming me?” His voice rose. “You chose this life. You chose to rot here. You should have been like Beatrice—independent, smart, valuable. Instead, you’re nothing.”
Each word pierced me deeper than a knife. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but my lips only trembled, and my tears betrayed me.
“You don’t deserve a cruise,” he spat. “So stay here. Prepare everything for us before we leave.” Then, without another glance, he stormed out—taking my last hope with him.
My tears fell silently, but I wiped them quickly, forcing myself to keep moving. I picked up the rag, clutched it like it was the only thing holding me together, and left the office.
In the living room, the sound of laughter hit me. But when I entered, my chest dropped.
Mud. Streaked across the carpet. Coreen—my little granddaughter—was running through the house with her shoes still wet.
“Coreen!” My voice cracked, harsher than I intended. “I told you not to mess up the floor!”
The little girl froze. Her eyes widened, her lips quivered. Then tears. She burst out crying, her small hands wiping her face as her tiny feet slipped on the muddy floor.
“Wait—Coreen!” I reached for her, desperate to catch her before she fell. But it was too late. She hit the ground, wailing louder.
“Mom!” Jackson’s voice thundered from the doorway. He rushed in, eyes blazing, scooping his daughter into his arms. “What the hell are you doing? You hurt my daughter!”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” I stammered, reaching for Coreen.
But Jackson shoved me back. “Stay away from her!”
Coreen sobbed into his chest, her little voice sharp as a dagger. “Granny is bad. She hurt me! Granny is evil!”
And then—Beatrice’s voice. Smooth, false sympathy wrapped in poison. She stepped inside, shopping bags in her arms, her lips curling. “What’s happening here?”