Book 4: I Quit Being the Wealthy Wife
I had been married to Anson for seventeen years, raising the son of his late first wife as my own.
After years of careful nurturing, the son had finally grown into an adult. On Christmas, he brought his girlfriend home to share the family dinner with us.
But to my shock, before the meal, he placed his mother’s portrait at the head of the table and forced my own daughter to kneel.
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I tried to stop it, but Anson held me back tightly.
He told me not to cause a scene–that the lady in the portrait would always be the matriarch of this house.
I broke free from Anson’s grip, helped my daughter, who had been forced to the ground, and said:
“Anson, we’re getting a divorce!”
Book 4 I Quit Being the
Wealthy Wife
I had been married to Anson for seventeen years, raising the son of his late first wife as my own.
After years of careful nurturing, the son had finally grown into an adult. On Christmas, he brought his girlfriend home to share the family dinner with us.
But to my shock, before the meal, he placed his mother’s portrait at the head of the table and forced my own daughter to kneel.
I tried to stop it, but Anson held me back tightly.
He told me not to cause a scene–that the lady in the portrait would always be the
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matriarch of this house.
I broke free from Anson’s grip, helped my daughter, who had been forced to the ground, and said:
“Anson, we’re getting a divorce!”
The dining table was in disarray, and the two Gates men stood side by side, their cold eyes fixed on me.
Oakley’s girlfriend, sensing the tension, rose and excused herself quietly, slipping out of the room.
I couldn’t help but notice the red wine stain on her dress.
I said nothing–knowing it had been spilled when she and Oakley forced my daughter to kneel earlier, the glass toppling over in the
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chaos.
My daughter, burning with fever, cried softly in my arms. I held her tighter, my heart breaking. A girl of her age, so sensitive- how could I have let this happen in our own home?
Anson, seeing her tears, cleared his throat awkwardly, guilt creeping into his voice.
“Come on, Chloe, it’s just a simple bow. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Look at your brother–he’s done it every holiday without complaint.”
His words sparked a fire in my chest, but before I could speak, I heard my daughter’s voice, laced with emotion, cutting through the air
“That’s Oakley’s real mom! My mom is still
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alive! Why should I bow? Waaa, Dad, you’re so unfair!”
Her words hit me like a punch, and just as I was about to calm her down and take her back to her room, Oakley stormed forward. Grabbing Chloe by the arm, he ripped her from my grasp.
“So what if my real mom is dead?” he sneered. “If she were alive, would your mom even have married into this family? Would you even be here? Your life–everything you have–is thanks to my mom. What’s so hard about showing respect and bowing?”
Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding his judgment, but Oakley, face flushed with anger, gripped Chloe’s arm tighter and dragged her to the photo of his mother, forcing her to kneel once again.
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Seeing my daughter–so small, so helpless -being pulled around like that, something inside me snapped. I surged forward,
pushing Oakley away with all my strength His body collided with the edge of the table, This painful cry echoing in the room, but I didn’t care.
As I knelt down to comfort my youngest daughter, I heard the distinct sound of glass shattering. But I was too exhausted to pay it any mind, until Oakley’s agonized scream followed.
“Mom!”
His cry made Chloe flinch, and when I looked up, I saw that the photo of his mother had been knocked off the table by Oakley’s collision, now lying shattered on the floor.
In the past, I would have gone to comfort
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him, but now, all I could feel was that Oakley was simply a lost cause–someone beyond saving.
As for Anson, I cast him a cold glance as he half–knelt on the floor, painstakingly picking shards of glass off the photo.
It was only for her that he ever showed such meticulous attention to detail.
Mom, I feel so bad…”
My daughter’s painful groan snapped me out of my thoughts. I reached out to touch her forehead–it was burning with fever.
Suddenly, I had no interest in dealing with the two men. I gently picked my daughter up and headed straight for the hospital.
