Chapter 135
Jack saw that I was just staring at him expressionlessly, not immediately dragging him out.
He got a bit bolder, though his tone wasn't as arrogant as before.
"Tell me a bedtime story," he said, his voice softer now, with a barely noticeable hint of pleading, though it was quickly covered up by forced willfulness, "I want to hear something funny. I don't want to have nightmares anymore."
His tone wasn't particularly harsh, even a bit awkwardly vulnerable.
But I just didn't like it.
I didn't want to be led around by the nose by him anymore, and I certainly didn't want to play any kind of nurturing mother role.
I tilted my head slightly, my tone cold, "I still have things to do. If I have time later and you're still not asleep, we'll see."
Jack immediately grabbed onto this like a lifeline, saying loudly, "I definitely won't fall asleep. I'll wait for you. You have to come."
I didn't respond, just opened the door, walked out, and gently closed it behind me, shutting out that uncomfortable room and that uncomfortable child.
I had no intention of going back later.
I returned to the guest room and locked the door.
Milly was still sleeping soundly, her little face peaceful.
I carefully got into bed, lay down beside her, and pulled her warm body into my arms.
Only then did the coldness in my heart gradually dissipate.
I picked up my phone, wanting to scroll through some news to distract myself and completely calm down.
My finger scrolled across the screen mindlessly.
Suddenly, a set of street photos pinned by some fashion blogger caught my eye.
The photos were taken in a busy shopping district, with luxury store windows in the background. The lighting and angles were very professional. The subjects were a man and a woman.
The man wore a well-tailored dark gray coat, stood tall and straight, with sharp profile lines—it was George.
The woman was holding his arm, wearing a cream-colored cashmere dress with a matching coat, makeup perfect, smile sweet, nestled against George like a delicate bird.
It was Sarah.
The blogger's caption read: [Ran into this gorgeous couple with amazing looks! They look so good together. The guy is cold and handsome, the girl is gentle and sweet. They look perfect together! I couldn't help asking if I could take photos. The girl was so sweet and agreed. I asked if they were a couple, and she smiled so sweetly and said they were very good friends, but honestly, don't they look perfect together?]
Below were nine photos in a grid, different angles, different interactions.
Some showed Sarah looking up at George with a sweet smile, some showed George slightly lowering his head to listen to her, some showed them walking side by side with Sarah practically leaning on George.
Every single photo was filled with an intimate atmosphere that outsiders couldn't penetrate.
And although George never looked at the camera throughout, his expression still his usual indifference, he didn't push Sarah's hand away, didn't deny the blogger's couple speculation, and didn't make any clarification when Sarah said "very good friends."
This silence, in a public place, in front of cameras, was a form of tacit approval and indulgence.
I looked at those photos, at Sarah's happiness and showing-off desire practically overflowing from the screen, at George's air of taking it all for granted, and felt nothing.
I just thought they were a perfect match—both equally shameless.
Just as I was about to scroll past, my phone rang. It was Emily.
As soon as I answered, Emily's furious voice came through, "Grace, did you see it? Did you see that blogger's street photos? Oh my God! Sarah, that shameless woman, and George—how can they be so blatant?"
"What 'very good friends'? Who are they kidding? Her hand is practically in his armpit, and she's smiling so smugly at the camera. It's disgusting!"
I pulled at the corner of my mouth, my voice calm, "Hasn't she always been this shameless? I'm used to it. George keeps lowering my expectations too. Pretty impressive."
Emily probably didn't expect me to be so calm, even a bit sarcastic. She paused, then seemed relieved, her tone softening, "Right, Grace, that's how you should be. See through them, don't get angry over these jerks. They're not worth it. Let's live our own lives well and make them mad!"
"Okay," I replied, "It's late. I need to sleep. I have things to do tomorrow. You should rest early too. See you tomorrow."
"Okay, see you tomorrow. Sleep well, don't think about those annoying things!" Emily gave a few more reminders before hanging up.
I put my phone on silent, tossed it on the nightstand, then hugged Milly tighter and closed my eyes.
The door was locked.
So later, when Jack's tearful and angry door-pounding and shouting echoed faintly in the hallway, they were completely shut out by the solid door and my resolve.
I didn't sleep well, but at least I didn't waste any more sleep or emotions on that mother and son.
The next morning, I got up with Milly to wash up.
Jack had already gotten up by himself. He was sitting on the living room sofa, and when he saw me come out, he immediately glared at me with resentful eyes, his little face stretched long.
"Liar!" he accused indignantly, "You're a big liar who doesn't keep promises!"
I ignored him, acting as if I hadn't heard, and walked straight into the kitchen to start preparing a simple breakfast.
I heated milk for Milly and cooked three bowls of noodles with some vegetables. The aroma soon filled the dining room.
"Milly, remember to finish your milk," I said, placing the noodles on the table and reminding Milly.
Jack saw that I was ignoring him from start to finish and became even more unwilling to let it go, but he smelled the noodles and his stomach growled traitorously.
He stood at the dining room entrance, hesitating for a while, but eventually walked over huffily, plopped down, picked up his utensils, and started eating with his head down.
He was probably starving, or maybe my noodles really tasted good. He ate silently and actually finished the whole bowl, then pushed the empty bowl toward me, saying awkwardly, "More!"
I gave him another half bowl.
He finished it again, then let out a small satisfied burp, but immediately remembered he was still angry and quickly put on a stern face again, turning his head away from me.
I didn't bother with him. I cleaned up the dishes, urged the two children to change their shoes, and prepared to take them to kindergarten.
I dropped Milly off at her classroom first, watched her go in with the teacher, then took the still-sulking Jack to his classroom.
The whole way, he kept muttering under his breath about liars who don't keep promises. I didn't respond to any of it. At the classroom door, I handed him over to the teacher and turned to leave.
I walked out of the kindergarten. The sunlight was a bit harsh.
I rubbed my temples, about to go to my car, when I suddenly remembered something important.
I forgot to take my grandfather's dress.
After bringing it back last night, I had left it on the cabinet in the guest room. This morning, busy with getting the kids breakfast and out the door, I had completely forgotten to bring it to the car.
That was something I had worked so hard to get back. I couldn't let anything happen to it.
I had to go back right away.
I immediately drove back to the Smith Villa.
I parked the car outside the villa and walked quickly to the front door, instinctively reaching to press my fingerprint.
Before my finger even touched the scanner, the heavy wooden door was suddenly pulled open from inside.
The morning sunlight poured through the doorway, illuminating the person standing inside.
It wasn't the butler, it wasn't Linda.
It was someone completely unexpected, someone who made me freeze in place instantly.