Chapter 38 Chapter 38 His aunt
Gabriel's POV
“Aunt Racheal?” I exclaimed, rising abruptly from the couch as she strode into my living room unannounced, dragging a battered suitcase behind her.
“Why have you been ignoring my calls, Gabriel?” She snapped, her sharp tone cutting through the air. She didn’t bother with greetings. “You know if you ignored me, I’d show up myself! You think you can avoid me forever?”
I sighed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “I’ve been busy, Aunt Racheal. Life’s been... complicated.”
Her frown deepened as she dropped the suitcase by the wall, crossing her arms. “Complicated? What’s so complicated that you can’t answer your phone? Your uncle is sick, Gabriel! So sick he might die. Do you want him to die? Is that what you want?”
Her voice trembled with faux urgency, but I wasn’t buying it.
“Sick again, huh?” I said with a bitter chuckle. “Or is this another one of your scripts?”
Her face twisted in indignation. “How dare you, child! Your uncle needs $10,000—at least—to get proper treatment. Are you telling me you can’t spare even that?”
“Listen, Aunt Racheal.” I squared my shoulders, meeting her gaze firmly. “I already told you weeks ago—my business is struggling. I don’t have money to give. Things are bad right now.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Just sit and watch him die?” She fired back, her voice rising.
I shook my head, frustrated. “If he’s really sick, take him to a hospital. Let them send me the bill. But I’m not handing over money blindly like I did the last time. Remember the ‘chest cancer’? That cost me $15,000, and it turned out to be nothing but lies!”
Her lips thinned, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she huffed and grabbed her suitcase again, hauling it toward the guest room.
“I’m not going anywhere until you help me. I’ll stay right here if I have to!”
I watched her disappear into the room, muttering curses under her breath. When she reemerged, she looked around the living room, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Why is this place such a mess? Where’s your wife, Rebecca? She needs to clean this disaster up immediately!”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Rebecca. Her name alone was enough to dredge up all the regret I tried so hard to bury.
“I’m no longer married to Rebecca,” I said quietly, my voice thick with shame.
Aunt Racheal’s expression brightened instantly. “About time!” she declared, her tone triumphant. “I always told you to get rid of that witch. She was never good enough for you. Good riddance!”
“Yeah, right. Like the gem I’ve got now is any better,” I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with bitterness.
“What was that?” she asked, but I didn’t bother repeating myself.
Instead, I slumped back onto the couch, letting her judgmental gaze sweep over the room.
“Well,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, “since I’m here, I’ll clean up. But don’t think I’ll do it for free. You’ll owe me for this.”
She began tidying the room, grumbling under her breath about the mess. As she worked, my stomach growled audibly.
“What have you eaten today?” she asked, pausing to glare at me.
“Nothing,” I replied flatly.
Her eyes widened in shock. “Nothing? Gabriel, you’re a human garbage disposal. You don’t skip meals. What’s going on with you?”
I shrugged, pulling the duvet over myself.
She sighed, her tone softening. “Well, I found some rice and chicken in the fridge. I’ll cook you something.”
Her words brought a small, reluctant smile to my face, a rare moment of comfort in the chaos.
But peace never lasts.
Two hours later, the front door slammed open, and Emmanuella stormed in. The scent of sweat—and someone else’s—hit me like a slap. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her clothes looked hastily thrown on.
“You didn’t even bother freshening up after your little session?” I said, my voice calm but laced with disdain.
She ignored me, her attention snapping toward the kitchen as the aroma of cooked food filled the air.
“Who the hell is in my kitchen?” She barked, her tone dripping with anger.
Before I could respond, she marched into the kitchen. Moments later, her voice rang out, sharp and furious.
“You fool!” Emmanuella screeched, yanking Aunt Racheal’s hair. “How dare you crawl out of your hole and come into my house to cook for my husband!”
Aunt Racheal cried out, trying to free herself from Emmanuella’s grip. “Gabriel! Help me!”
I shot off the couch, rage boiling in my chest. “Emmanuella, let her go!”
She ignored me, her nails digging into Aunt Racheal’s scalp. “I don’t care who you think you are. Stay the hell away from my kitchen and my man!”
I crossed the room in two strides, grabbing Emmanuella’s wrist and prying her off my aunt. “Enough!” I growled, my voice sharp.
She glared at me, but I didn’t flinch.
“You’ve crossed the line, Emmanuella. Apologize. Now,” I demanded.
“Apologize?” She spat, wrenching her hand free. “To her? Never!”
Aunt Racheal scrambled to her feet, her face red and her hair disheveled. “This woman is insane!” she hissed. “You’re letting her treat me like this in your own house?”
“Go to your room, Aunt Racheal,” I said, my tone weary but firm. “I’ll handle this.”
She hesitated, but after a moment, she stomped off, muttering curses under her breath.
When she was gone, I turned back to Emmanuella. “You’re out of control,” I said. “This has to stop.”
She rolled her eyes, brushing past me toward the food on the stove. “I don’t have time for this.”
But as I watched her help herself to the meal she hadn’t cooked, my chest tightened with anger and despair.
Rebecca’s absence was a constant ache, but with Emmanuella, it felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit of chaos and regret.