The Unexpected Visit
Days passed. The air hung thick and heavy. James grew gaunt, hollow-eyed, silent. He started making frantic calls, cloistered in his study for hours—pleading, arguing, breaking down. He was confronting Vivian. I hid in my studio, brushes futile against the suffocating dread. Amy sensed it too, clinging to me, avoiding her father. One Thursday afternoon, the doorbell rang. James was out.
Expecting my mother, I checked the peephole. Stunned. Vivian Greene stood outside. Impeccable pearl-gray suit, perfect hair, makeup masking profound exhaustion. But her eyes remained sharp, now bloodshot and blazing with desperate defiance. My heart stopped. She’d come.
The Former Mother-in-Law’s Accusation
I opened the door. Vivian’s gaze pinned me—assessing, resentful, icy. "Amy Rollins?" Her voice was like ice chips. "Yes." I stepped aside. She entered on high heels, scanning the room like a hawk. She remained standing, a cold statue. "James told me," she began, each word venomous, "he’s ending his 'support.' Because you demanded it. To sever all ties." Her chest rose slightly. "Five years! Five years Lucy’s been gone! For five years, he kept me afloat! Made me feel Lucy… wasn’t entirely gone! And now, on your orders, he discards me? Like rubbish?"
She took a step forward, radiating fury. "Do you know how Lucy died? Do you? Her car… shattered! She lay there… so cold…" Her voice rose, lacerated. "Where was James? Answering a damned work call! If he’d been with her… my Lucy would be alive!" Her shrieked accusation froze the air. Grief and rage made her tremble. "And now," she stabbed me with her gaze, "you, Amy Rollins, this successor , living the life Lucy lost—husband, home, child! How dare you steal my last comfort? Steal James’s last shred of duty to Lucy? How can you be so cruel?!"
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Days passed. The air hung thick and heavy. James grew gaunt, hollow-eyed, silent. He started making frantic calls, cloistered in his study for hours—pleading, arguing, breaking down. He was confronting Vivian. I hid in my studio, brushes futile against the suffocating dread. Amy sensed it too, clinging to me, avoiding her father. One Thursday afternoon, the doorbell rang. James was out.
Expecting my mother, I checked the peephole. Stunned. Vivian Greene stood outside. Impeccable pearl-gray suit, perfect hair, makeup masking profound exhaustion. But her eyes remained sharp, now bloodshot and blazing with desperate defiance. My heart stopped. She’d come.
The Former Mother-in-Law’s Accusation
I opened the door. Vivian’s gaze pinned me—assessing, resentful, icy. "Amy Rollins?" Her voice was like ice chips. "Yes." I stepped aside. She entered on high heels, scanning the room like a hawk. She remained standing, a cold statue. "James told me," she began, each word venomous, "he’s ending his 'support.' Because you demanded it. To sever all ties." Her chest rose slightly. "Five years! Five years Lucy’s been gone! For five years, he kept me afloat! Made me feel Lucy… wasn’t entirely gone! And now, on your orders, he discards me? Like rubbish?"
She took a step forward, radiating fury. "Do you know how Lucy died? Do you? Her car… shattered! She lay there… so cold…" Her voice rose, lacerated. "Where was James? Answering a damned work call! If he’d been with her… my Lucy would be alive!" Her shrieked accusation froze the air. Grief and rage made her tremble. "And now," she stabbed me with her gaze, "you, Amy Rollins, this successor , living the life Lucy lost—husband, home, child! How dare you steal my last comfort? Steal James’s last shred of duty to Lucy? How can you be so cruel?!"
NEXT >>
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