Chapter 140 One Day, Her Mother Will Forgive Her
Now that nothing unusual had happened for weeks, Isla's guard was finally coming down. She had even started letting Benjamin go out alone to buy groceries.
Benjamin nodded. "Got it."
The moment the door closed behind him, his fingers trembled. Once inside the elevator, he let out a long breath and fired off a quick text to the number that had just called.
Isabella's phone buzzed. She looked down at the screen—just a few short words, but they made her chest tighten with warmth.
Benjamin: [Wait for me!]
She knew Benjamin would never abandon her. He would come.
And she believed that someday, Isla would forgive her too. Maybe not love her the way she had loved Beatrice—but at least stop hating her. That would be enough.
Benjamin stepped out of the building and spotted the familiar figure behind the tree across the street. His eyes immediately welled up. He quickened his pace.
Isabella watched him approach, her own eyes burning. Her voice caught in her throat. "Dad."
It had been two months. Benjamin looked her over carefully, his expression full of emotion. Then he nodded in relief. "You've put on a little weight. You look healthier than before."
Tears slid down Isabella's face. Benjamin still loved her.
"Dad, how's Mom doing?"
"She's recovering well. Isabella, we're the ones who failed you. Please don't hate your mother."
Isabella shook her head quickly. "I've never hated her. I came today because I wanted to see you—and to talk about rebuilding the cottage."
Benjamin looked surprised. "You want to rebuild it? Isabella, your grandmother's gone. Even if you rebuild it, no one will live there. Since it's already gone, maybe it's better to let it go. I could get you a place of your own instead, how about that?"
He didn't want her trapped in the past.
Isabella answered quickly. "What do you mean, no one will live there? Grandma will. And someday, I'll go back too."
Benjamin blinked. She had spoken too quickly. "What did you say?"
Isabella smiled. "Dad, the cottage was Grandma's favorite place. When I'm old, I want to live somewhere like that too. Do you still have the original blueprints? Can I have them?"
Benjamin felt a strange sense of comfort hearing this. "It's been decades. The blueprints are long gone. But I know a reliable architect. I can introduce you."
If this was something Isabella cared about, he'd support her.
Isabella's smile widened. "Thank you, Dad. I want to contact him as soon as possible. Can you recommend him now?"
Benjamin nodded. "I'll go back and get his card. Wait here."
He turned—and his face went white.
Isla was standing right behind him, her eyes locked on him like ice.
The tree had blocked his view. He hadn't realized she'd followed him out.
"Isla… what are you doing here?"
Isabella heard the shift in his voice and turned. Her eyes met Isla's cold, hostile stare.
Her heart clenched. Before she could speak, Isla strode forward and slapped her hard across the face.
"You bitch. I knew that call was from you. If it was really a telemarketer, why wouldn't you answer me?"
She whirled on Benjamin. "You can't even lie properly. You bought groceries this morning, then one phone call and you're out again? Now you're meeting her behind my back and learning to deceive me too?"
Benjamin looked helplessly at Isabella's reddening cheek. "Just go home."
Isabella nodded and started to leave—but Isla blocked her path.
"Since you're here, let me make this clear. I will never acknowledge you as my daughter. Don't come here again. Don't contact me. If you do, I'll hit you every single time I see you."
Isabella's gaze had changed—steadier, harder.
"Then hit me. I'll still come back. Whether you acknowledge me or not, we share blood. That can never be erased."
Isla's laugh was bitter. "So that's your true nature. You want to drive me to my grave, don't you?"
Isabella smiled too. "Say whatever you want. I don't care. And honestly? If you did die, that would be perfect. Then I could see Dad whenever I wanted. I could go back to that house. I could even sleep in my sister's bed."
Isla's fury exploded. She raised her hand to strike again—but Benjamin caught her wrist.
"Isla, that's enough."
Isla turned and slapped him instead. "Did you hear what she just said? She wants me dead! And you're defending her? Let me tell you something—I'm not dying. I won't let your little plan succeed. We're going home. Now."
Isabella watched them walk away, a faint smile curving her lips.
It was good to see Isla with so much fight in her. And the words she'd just said? They'd keep Isla strong. Keep her alive.
She genuinely hoped her mother would live to be a hundred.
Isabella took a deep breath. She knew Benjamin couldn't come back out. She turned and left.
As she reached the curb to hail a ride, her phone buzzed. Benjamin had sent her the architect's contact card. It was enough.
She stared at the name on the screen, her finger hovering over the call button for two long seconds. Then she pressed it.
She needed to rebuild the cottage as soon as possible. Otherwise, where would her grandmother live? Where would her sister stay when she came back to the countryside? Her thoughts felt fractured, coming apart at the seams.
Isabella's mind spiraled as the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Mr. Howard? My name is Isabella. I'm Benjamin's daughter." She softened her voice, careful not to intrude. "My father said you could help me rebuild a cottage. He told me to contact you."
Bruce Howard's tone brightened immediately. "Benjamin just messaged me. When do you want to meet? I can come take a look."
Isabella had already agreed to start work tomorrow, so she could only schedule it for the weekend. "Would Saturday work? The site's in a town on the outskirts—about three hours away."
She mentioned the distance right away in case it was inconvenient.
"No problem. Just so you know, the travel distance will add to the cost. Is that okay with you?"
"Yes, that's fine. How about Saturday morning at eight?"
She had already researched the going rates. The round trip alone would be expensive, and she was prepared to cover it.
"Deal. See you Saturday." Bruce's answer was straightforward, no fuss.
Isabella exhaled in relief and flagged down a cab to the market.
She picked out Beatrice's favorite vegetables, then added the dishes Beatrice had mentioned in her diary—the ones William liked.
She was fully aware of what she was doing. If she was going to live as Beatrice, she had to live the way Beatrice had lived.
Back at the house, her mind churned with what came next.
Beatrice used to bring William lunch at work. So she would too.
She had tried it before, of course. He had thrown the food away without a second glance. But that didn't matter—she wasn't doing this to please him. She was doing it because it was what Beatrice would have done.
She started cooking, her movements careful and deliberate, as if someone were standing beside her in the kitchen.
She glanced at the empty space next to her and whispered, "Am I doing this right? Did I add enough salt?"