Chapter 11
Healy’s words struck Blanche like an invisible blade, slicing deep into her heart.
She stared at the woman who had seduced her husband and destroyed her family–now kneeling before her. Pain twisted her breathing into ragged gasps, her voice trembling. “What did you just say?”
“Mom, you have so many pieces of jewelry. You can’t wear them all. What’s wrong with giving Miss Jean a ring?” Healy pouted, clinging to childish charm, oblivious to any wrongdoing. “Besides, you’re always saying that Miss Jean takes good care of me and she deserves a
reward.”
“So I just rewarded her for you.”
Healy remembered coming home from school that day, watching Miss Jean’s eyes light up when she found the ring on the entryway table. She’d said she could never afford something so beautiful–her voice had sounded so pitiful. Mom was always telling him to be generous to the people around them. Why was she blaming him now?
Blanche gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, steadying herself enough to stand tall and glare down at Healy. “You gave away my things without asking. Did you even think to ask me first, Healy?”
“I’ve taught you: taking something without permission is stealing.”
“But Mom, when you die, everything you own will be mine. Your things are going to be mine anyway, how is that stealing?”
“Who told you my things would be yours?” Blanche could hardly breathe at his casual entitlement. “Haven’t I taught you that people have to rely on themselves?” Looking at Healy’s innocent, self–assured face, she was swept by an ache too bitter to name.
She’d always thought if she were suddenly gone, at least Healy would grieve for her. But not only did he not care–he’d already started thinking about what would happen after she was
gone.
Criticized, Healy’s lip trembled, tears brimming in his eyes as he stared at Blanche with wounded stubbornness.
Of course it was his grandmother who’d told him–he’d inherit The Simmons Group and everything else his parents owned. When he was grown and ran the company, he’d buy Miss Jean all the jewelry she wanted. By then, Mom wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“The ring is already back in your hands, Mom. Please, just forgive Miss Jean,” Healy pleaded. “Miss Jean won’t come to our house anymore. Just pretend nothing happened.”
Pretend nothing happened?
Blanche gazed at Healy’s young face, disappointment hollowing her out. It hadn’t happened to him, so how could he possibly understand the pain?
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Chapter 11
“It’s your father who’s pressing charges against her. You shouldn’t be coming to me,” Blanche said flatly. She didn’t give Healy another glance as she left the bathroom.
In the end, Jeannette was never prosecuted. The police determined that while Healy had given her the ring without Blanche’s consent, it was not intentional theft–he was just a child, so the matter was dropped.
Eddy relayed all of this to Blanche.
Late at night, the villa was silent. Eddy worked alone in his study, the room as immaculate as ever. Even the wedding photo Blanche had smashed had been replaced, leaving no trace of what had happened. Blanche had given the housekeeper and every maid a raise.
Blanche retreated to the master bedroom and never set foot outside it again. It was the only place in the house untouched by Eddy or Jeannette, the last sanctuary where she could find a sliver of peace.
Suddenly, the door burst open and two figures appeared. Healy, clutching his teddy bear, ran straight into Blanche’s arms, followed by Lauren–the new caregiver Loraine had just hired.
“Mom, I hate her!” Healy blurted out.
“She can’t even squeeze toothpaste right. I don’t know which pajamas to wear. I don’t know which toys to play with. She threw my teddy in the washing machine and ruined it.”
“I don’t want her! I don’t want her!”
Instinctively, Blanche caught Healy and looked at his angry, scrunched–up face–then at Lauren, who stood awkwardly by the door.
“You can leave,” Blanche said quietly.
Lauren nodded and slipped out, closing the door behind her.
atched her go. Lauren was dressed in a crisp shirt and tailored slacks, every button
her throat, hands folded neatly in front of her–her posture stiff and respectful.
uldn’t help but remember Jeannette in her plunging v–neck top, shorts so skimpy
y covered anything, all too eager to flaunt herself. The memory sent a wave of
st through her.
om the very beginning, Jeannette had made her intentions perfectly clear.
