Chapter 100
I knew that if I didn't make this call, Violet would never let it go, and this birthday party might start off with tension and whispers.
If I did make it, the outcome was almost certainly going to be embarrassing.
I didn't want to lose my composure at Luna's birthday party, and even less did I want Luna to become fodder for others' pity.
Looking at the anxiety Luna was desperately trying to hide in her eyes, and the worry beneath Flora's forced smile, I took a deep breath and pushed down the irritation and coldness in my heart. "Okay, Grandma, I'll call."
I clicked on that number again and pressed the dial button.
It rang for a long time, and just when I thought no one would answer again, the call connected.
However, what came through was Steven's voice: "Mrs. Smith."
My heart instantly sank to the bottom.
Just as I thought.
"Steven," my voice revealed no emotion, "where's George? Is he coming or not?"
On the other end, Steven seemed to pause for a moment, with some noisy background sounds: "Mrs. Smith, Mr. Smith is currently with Ms. Wilson at the mall, dealing with something. Please wait, I'll pass the phone to Mr. Smith right away."
Even though I had expected it, hearing this fact with my own ears still stirred up a bone-chilling coldness and burning pain in my heart.
He was indeed with Sarah.
What urgent company matters, what last-minute meetings—all excuses.
He couldn't even be bothered to answer the phone himself to brush me off, unwilling to give even the last bit of superficial respect.
"No need." I cut off Steven's words, saying coldly, "Tell him he doesn't need to come."
With that, I hung up directly.
As expected, someone who doesn't care simply won't care no matter what.
This time, George wouldn't even give Violet face. To accompany Sarah shopping, he treated everyone's expectations as a joke to be played with at will.
I really shouldn't have held even the slightest bit of expectation for him.
Gripping my phone, I turned expressionlessly and walked back to Violet.
"Grace, how did it go? What did George say? Is he almost here?" Violet asked impatiently, a trace of hope still lingering in her eyes.
I pulled at the corners of my mouth, trying to force out a smile, but only felt my facial muscles stiffen. "I'm afraid he won't be coming."
Violet's brow immediately furrowed, her voice rising: "Why? Did something happen on the road? Or is it the company..."
"He's accompanying someone else shopping," I stated the reason directly, without softening it or dressing it up.
"Accompanying who?" Violet's voice carried incredulous anger, "What person could be more important than your mother's fiftieth birthday when shopping? Everyone here today are distinguished guests I invited. What is he trying to do—whose face is he trying to slap?"
Violet had been strong-willed all her life and cared deeply about appearances. Today's party was something she had orchestrated, inviting many old friends, intending to demonstrate the bond between our families and repair relationships.
George's absence to accompany someone else shopping was like giving her a resounding slap in the face in front of everyone, making her lose face before her old friends.
At this moment, Emily and William also came over.
They were friends I had specifically invited to celebrate Mom's birthday.
Emily had obviously heard the earlier conversation. With her fiery temperament and inability to stand seeing me wronged, she immediately let out a cold laugh and spoke bluntly: "Mrs. Violet Smith, are you only now realizing that your grandson is a bastard? This isn't the first time he's pulled something like this! For that woman who can't even show her face in public, he's played Grace like a fool. How many times has he agreed to things only to forget them immediately, leaving Grace waiting in vain and embarrassed?"
"Grace has suffered so much, always enduring it alone! In the Smith family, who has truly understood her or felt sorry for her?"
Emily's words were like a sharp dagger, stabbing straight at Violet and tearing away the fig leaf everyone had tacitly agreed to maintain.
"Emily!" I quickly grabbed her, stopping her from saying more.
Today was Mom's birthday, and I didn't want things to get too ugly.
I turned to Violet, whose face had already turned iron-blue, and said softly: "Grandma, forget it. Let's start the meal. If we wait any longer, the food will get cold, and the guests will be hungry. If he finishes what he's doing, he'll naturally come."
Violet's lips were pressed tightly together as she squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth: "That good-for-nothing bastard!"
As she spoke, she reached for her own phone: "I'll call him myself. I want to see if he still has any regard for me as his grandmother!"
I quickly pressed down on her hand, feeling both anxious and helpless.
I was afraid Violet would really make herself sick with anger, and even more afraid that when the call went through, we'd still hear George's cold voice or Sarah's cloying interruption, which would only upset Violet more.
"Grandma, don't call." I looked at her, my voice carrying exhaustion and resignation. "If he wanted to come, he would have come already. If you call him, besides making him more impatient and you angrier, what will it change? Forget it, really, just forget it."
Violet looked at me, and her eyes suddenly reddened. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but her throat seemed blocked.
In the end, she just gripped my hand tightly in return, sighed, her voice choked: "You're being wronged again, Grace. It's my fault, I can't control him..."
I shook my head, forcing out a smile that looked worse than crying: "It's okay, Grandma. I'm used to it."
Emily turned her face away, her eyes reddening.
William pressed his lips tightly together, his expression somber.
Violet said nothing more, just wearily waved her hand, her voice hoarse: "Let's start the meal."
The banquet finally began in a somewhat eerie and oppressive atmosphere.
Mom forced herself to be cheerful, greeting the guests.
Violet sat in the seat of honor, and though she put the smile back on her face, it was obviously strained, her gaze occasionally drifting toward the entrance, only to quickly dim again.
Emily, William, Flora, and I all tried hard to liven up the atmosphere, attempting to dispel that invisible cloud.
Gradually, amid the toasts and conversation, the atmosphere finally became somewhat more harmonious.
However, just as everyone was beginning to relax a bit, an uninvited guest appeared again at the banquet hall entrance.
A middle-aged man wearing a cheap suit, his hair slicked back with oil, wearing a calculating smile on his face, carrying a shabby gift bag, poked his head in and walked inside.
It was Jerry Brown.
My father.
The moment Mom saw him, all color drained from her face, turning deathly pale. She almost instinctively stood up, rushed over in a few steps, blocked Jerry's path, her voice trembling with anger and fear: "What are you doing here? Get out! You're not welcome here!"
I also immediately stood up, quickly walked over, positioned myself in front of Mom, looking at this biological father with icy eyes: "Jerry, what are you doing here? Who gave you permission to come?"
Jerry seemed a bit embarrassed by our mother-daughter defensive stance, but quickly put on that fake smile again, waving the gift bag in his hand: "Luna, it's your birthday. How could I, your husband, not come to celebrate? That thing last time was my fault, I was confused. Look, I came specially to apologize and celebrate your birthday, didn't I? Let's let bygones be bygones. You should have calmed down by now, right?"
That thing last time—he still had the nerve to bring it up!
To curry favor with Tom and get the so-called business opportunity, he had actually tried to get Mom drunk at a dinner party and then sent her to Tom's room.
If I hadn't sensed something was wrong that day and arrived in time, fighting desperately to take Mom away, the consequences would have been unthinkable.
Afterward, he had the audacity to say that it was normal for women to drink with clients when doing business...
This unconscionable, inhuman behavior, and he casually expected Mom to just calm down.
I was shaking with anger. I grabbed Jerry's arm and forcefully dragged him out to the corridor outside the banquet hall, lowering my voice but making each word sharp as a knife: "Jerry, you still have the nerve to bring up that incident? Not only did you cheat, but you also wanted to sell your own wife like merchandise, hand her over to someone else to abuse. Are you even human?"
"Mom has already filed for divorce. You're dragging your feet and refusing to sign, isn't it just because you still want to squeeze out Mom's last bit of value? I'm telling you, dream on!"
I stared at his disgusting face, thinking about how he was mixed up with Tom, Sarah, and that whole family, which made me even more furious: "Do you know that Tom's niece Sarah is the homewrecker who destroyed my marriage and almost ruined my family! You people really are equally despicable, shameless, and vile!"
Jerry, having been scolded by me until he couldn't save face, instantly dropped his pretense of apology, replaced by embarrassed anger.
He shook off my hand and glared at me, putting on the airs of a father: "Grace, how dare you talk to me like that? Even if we're divorced, I'm still your real father!"
"It's perfectly natural for me to come celebrate your mother's birthday. I'm the head of the household. You mother and daughter should listen to me. Is it your place to boss me around here?"