BOOKSDRAMA Chapter 13
Victoria sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her phone so tightly it had grown warm in her hand. The screen had gone dark long ago, but she just
stared at it, lost in thought.
Over the years, she’d done everything to care for her daughter—worried if she was too cold, too hot, hungry, or bored. From the moment Gwyneth
was born, Victoria had wanted nothing but the best for her. She knitted tiny sweaters and hats, imagining what her little girl would look like as she
grew up, spoiling her like a princess. If she could have plucked the stars from the sky for Gwyneth, she would have.
The only place she ever drew a hard line was with Gwyneth’s diet. Born with anemia and allergic to eggs and shellfish, Gwyneth also had a sweet
tooth. Victoria kept a close watch, never letting her have too much sugar—afraid she’d get overweight or end up with cavities.
She managed Gwyneth’s studies with the same vigilance, making sure she practiced her violin and kept up with her art. In many ways, Victoria
realized, she was just as strict as her own mother had been with her—a socialite who’d demanded nothing less than perfection.
But somehow, she’d failed to notice that Gwyneth didn’t like it. In just a few weeks after meeting Violet, Gwyneth had been utterly charmed. Violet
didn’t nag her about homework or fuss over what she ate. In half a month, Gwyneth put on nearly ten pounds. Once, she’d even eaten eggs at
By the time Victoria tried to bring her daughter back, it was already too late. Gwyneth’s heart, like McNeil’s, was firmly in Violet’s hands. They both
resented Victoria. Everything she’d done—every sacrifice—was nothing but self-consolation in the eyes of her husband and daughter.
The phone screen lit up again, its wallpaper no longer the family portrait it once was, but now a photo of Victoria with her own mother.
Edith Turner had been the daughter of a prominent Starfall City family—gentle, gracious, never one to stir trouble. But she’d married Victoria’s father,
a man as cold and distant as McNeil. Victoria remembered her mother’s kindness, but also the look of utter despair in her eyes on her deathbed.
She’d said, “Victoria, playing the devoted wife and mother leads nowhere good. Just look at me.”
Still, Victoria had always admired her mother’s quiet strength. She’d supported her ambitious husband as he climbed the social ladder, only for him to
keep a mistress and break her spirit. Even as a child, Victoria never wavered—no matter how strict her mother was, or how her father’s lover tried to
win her over, she never gave in.
Not like Gwyneth. Gwyneth had abandoned her without a second thought.
Victoria’s eyes welled with tears before she even realized it, her thoughts full of her daughter.
“Victoria, can we talk—?”
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A voice at the door jolted her from her misery. McNeil leaned in the doorway, suit jacket draped over his arm, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
He almost never smoked at home, but tonight, he was on edge.
Victoria glanced at him, said nothing, and switched off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. When she spoke, her voice was distant
and cold, almost otherworldly.
“McNeil, don’t waste your time. Go comfort your lover. Don’t come in here just to—”
She paused, then forced out the last three words: “—disturb me.”
But McNeil didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped further into the room.
Victoria pulled the covers over her head, cocooning herself completely.
The mattress dipped as McNeil sat beside her.
“Victoria, let’s not get divorced.”
Even hidden under the blanket, she could hear the rough edge in his voice—a plea, almost.
For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
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