Chapter 120
George ignored me.
The air around us felt frozen. I stood at the center of the storm, isolated and helpless.
Gemma looked a bit embarrassed. She wanted to speak up for me, but facing George, she couldn't bring herself to say anything.
Atticus frowned, his eyes shifting between George and me. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.
They couldn't intervene.
This was a family matter between George and me. Outsiders had no right to interfere, much less the power to change anything.
I looked at George.
He stood there, just a few steps away from me, wearing a well-tailored dark suit that made him look tall and upright, his face still cold and stern.
He hadn't said a word to stop Terry's mockery, which was practically hurled in my face. He hadn't even given a single look of displeasure.
He just stood there silently, his posture a silent endorsement.
As if every word Terry said was an undeniable fact.
As if I as a person, my feelings, my dignity, deserved to be trampled on like this.
My chest felt like something was blocking it tightly, stuffy and painfully cold.
But I still forced myself to speak, my voice unusually calm from the effort to suppress my emotions, "George, are you sure you want to give this gown to Sarah?"
I wanted to find even the slightest bit of hesitation or doubt in his eyes, those deep, unfathomable cold pools, or at least the bare minimum consideration for me as his wife in name.
At my words, George finally shifted his gaze from Sarah and looked at me.
His eyes were calm and still, like he was looking at an insignificant stranger.
His lips moved slightly, uttering a simple syllable that felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, "Yes."
A light response.
My heart had managed to hold on when facing Terry's barrage of humiliation.
But now, hearing his unhesitating confirmation, my heart was instantly shattered into pieces, the bloody wounds torn open again.
Intense pain mixed with a huge sense of absurdity swept over me, almost making me unable to stand.
I found it so ironic.
How could George manage, time and time again, to make me realize just how terrible he was?
Whether it was my own matters or matters concerning my loved ones, he could always turn a blind eye and a deaf ear.
At my mother's fiftieth birthday party, he arrived late, went through the motions perfunctorily, and even left halfway to celebrate Sarah's uncle's birthday.
Now, this gown was my grandfather's last work left in this world.
He clearly knew what it meant to me, yet he casually handed it over to the woman who had interfered in our marriage.
He clearly knew Sarah was a homewrecker scheming to take my place.
He clearly knew Tom was scum who had once tried to assault my mother.
But from beginning to end, he never once stood on my side.
Not even out of basic respect, or just to save a bit of face for me as his legal wife.
Not once.
Indeed.
Choosing divorce was absolutely the right decision.
Facing such a man who was biased to the extreme and cold and selfish to the extreme, what was there left for me to hold onto?
I only wished I could get those divorce papers right now and throw them hard in his and Sarah's disgusting faces.
Enormous anger and hatred crashed around in my chest, burning my eyes until they stung.
But I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing back the scream that was about to burst from my throat.
I couldn't lose control here.
At least not in front of Milly.
I turned to Atticus, ignoring the contemptuous looks from Terry and Sarah, trying to make my voice sound rational, "Atticus, could you please ask Mr. Mason Morgan one more time? This gown is really, really important to me and my family. It's not just an exhibit."
Atticus looked at the almost desperate determination in my eyes, then glanced at the expressionless George, a flash of sympathy and difficulty crossing his face.
He opened his mouth, seeming to want to agree to this request.
"Grace." Terry's voice rang out again, cutting off Atticus's thoughts. "Do you have no shame? George wants to give Sarah a gift—what's it to you? How can you be so shameless, asking and pestering over and over again? Is this fun? Aren't you embarrassed?"
His voice was particularly grating in the quiet gallery. More and more eyes were drawn over, like countless tiny needles pricking my skin.
Just as I was about to suffocate, my phone suddenly vibrated, the ringtone breaking the suffocating deadlock.
I grabbed it like a lifeline, immediately pulled out my phone, took Milly's hand and quickly walked to a relatively quiet corner of the gallery, and pressed answer.
"Who is it?" My voice carried a barely noticeable tremor.
A formulaic female voice came through, "Hello, is this Ms. Brown? We're a real estate agency. We understand you're interested in buying property recently. We have..."
It was a spam call.
I didn't even finish listening before hanging up.
Fine.
At least it gave me an excuse to escape temporarily.
I turned my back to the center of the gallery, tilted my head back slightly, closed my eyes, and took deep breaths, trying to push down the sense of humiliation churning in my chest.
My fingers gripped the phone tightly, the cold metal case pressing painfully into my palm.
Milly stood quietly beside me the whole time, her little hand clutching the corner of my clothes.
Then she gently tugged at my hand, looked up at me, and asked timidly, "Mommy, doesn't Daddy want you anymore either?"
My heart clenched sharply.
"You said before you were getting divorced," Milly's voice grew smaller and smaller, filled with confusion, "but you're not divorced yet. Why is Daddy still helping that bad woman bully Mommy?"
In Milly's simple and pure worldview, divorce probably just meant Mommy and Daddy wouldn't live together anymore, but Daddy would still be Daddy, and Mommy would still be Mommy.
They might separate, but at least Daddy wouldn't help outsiders hurt Mommy.
But everything that just happened had shown her a cruel truth in the most naked way.
Her daddy was unhesitatingly hurting her mommy for another woman.
I looked at Milly, my throat feeling blocked by something, sour and bitter.
I didn't want to badmouth George in front of Milly.
I knew that even though George was cold to her, even though he'd never given her real fatherly love, in her heart, she still held onto a fantasy about the role of "Daddy."
That was a child's most primal longing for a complete family, for a father's love.
I didn't want to personally shatter this fantasy, even though it was already crumbling.
I crouched down, looking Milly in the eyes, my voice very gentle, "Milly, that gown was made by your great-grandfather a long time ago."
"It's the only one left in the whole world, very, very precious. Mommy wants to buy it and take it home to show your grandma and Flora."
"They'll be so happy to see something your great-grandfather made."
"But your daddy won't let Mommy buy it. He wants to give it to that woman just now."
I couldn't explain adult betrayal to a five-year-old child. I could only state the facts in the most straightforward way.
"He's doing something bad, right?" Milly asked quietly, her eyes showing understanding and a trace of anger beyond her years.
I nodded gently and stroked her soft hair, "Yes, he's doing something that makes Mommy and your grandma sad."
Then I took a deep breath, looked into her eyes, and continued, "So, Milly, after Mommy and Daddy get divorced, we'll be two separate families. Your daddy will have his life, and Mommy will have Mommy's life. He won't be involved in Mommy's business anymore, and naturally won't help Mommy either. From now on, we have to protect ourselves, okay?"
Milly nodded with some understanding, disappointment on her little face.
I wanted to comfort her a bit more, but suddenly a voice came from behind me.