Chapter 161
If this had happened before, hearing words like that might have hurt me, embarrassed me, made me feel like some pathetic joke.
But right now, I felt completely calm inside, even found it somewhat ridiculous.
Looking at Sarah's face written all over with "I'm the winner," I suddenly felt sorry for her.
What she was fighting for, what she was showing off about, was nothing more than trash I'd already decided to completely discard.
I wasn't angry or sad. I just nodded slightly, my tone still flat, "Of course I know."
I knew who George chose to protect.
I knew exactly what these six years of marriage meant to him.
That's exactly why I had to leave.
After saying that, I didn't give her any chance to respond. I turned and walked straight toward the elevator.
No footsteps followed behind me. Sarah didn't chase after me.
Just as I pressed the up button, I heard her answer her phone.
The parking garage was empty and quiet. Even from a distance, I could faintly make out the male voice on the other end.
It was Terry, his voice as loud as ever, "Sarah, where did you run off to? George's IV is almost done, and the nurse is asking if family is here! Why aren't you at the hospital?"
Sarah's voice immediately switched to that gentle yet slightly anxious tone, completely different from the cold harshness she'd shown me moments ago, "Terry, I went to get George some light congee. I'm coming right now, very soon!"
The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside.
As the doors slowly closed, through the narrowing gap, I saw Sarah drive out of the parking garage.
Looks like George really did need her, which was why she rushed back so urgently to continue playing that indispensable good friend role.
I returned to the company and threw this little episode to the back of my mind, throwing myself fully into the morning's work.
Near noon, my phone rang. It was Mom calling.
"Grace, are you free tonight? I bought fresh fish and beef. Bring Milly over for dinner tonight, I'll make you something delicious." Mom's voice carried laughter and anticipation. Even through the phone, I could feel that warmth.
My mood instantly brightened. The slight gloom that Sarah's appearance had brought was easily swept away by my mother's care.
"Sure, Mom. I'll pick up Milly after work and then come over." I agreed with a smile.
Just after hanging up with Mom, while I was in a good mood, my desk phone rang.
It was the front desk, saying a Ms. Smith was calling for me, asking whether to transfer the call.
A Ms. Smith? Violet?
My heart sank slightly.
I picked up the transferred call, and sure enough, Violet's gentle but noticeably tired voice came through, "Grace, have you had lunch yet?"
"I'm eating now. How about you, Grandma?" I responded politely, but my guard went up.
"I've eaten." Violet paused, her tone becoming even softer, even carrying a hint of careful negotiation, "Grace, I have a favor to ask. George is in the hospital and has no appetite. We made some nutritious chicken soup at the Old Smith Mansion and wanted to have someone deliver it, but coincidentally the driver had a family emergency today, Linda needs to watch Jack, and the other staff are all busy with their own things..."
By this point, her meaning couldn't be clearer.
"I was thinking, if you're free this afternoon, could you come by the Old Smith Mansion, take the thermos to the hospital for George? And maybe check on him while you're there. He's all alone at the hospital, must be pretty lonely."
The Smith family, such a large household with so many staff and drivers—how could they all possibly be unavailable today?
The excuse wasn't particularly clever.
I knew Violet was doing this on purpose. She'd never given up on bringing George and me back together.
Maybe it was because yesterday I'd agreed to go to the hospital but then left due to something coming up, making her sense my resistance and distance.
Or maybe George had said something on his end, or said nothing at all, which made Violet even more worried.
So she came up with this plan, using the soup delivery as an excuse, hoping I could naturally go to the hospital and see George.
If this were the old me, even if I had a high fever, as long as I heard Violet make such an arrangement and thought I had a legitimate reason to see George—even just to deliver a bowl of soup—I would have accepted this task without hesitation and felt grateful for Violet's kindness.
I would have dressed up carefully, felt anxious, wondered how George would react when he saw me, and my heart would race or sink over a possible look from him or something he might say.
But now, listening to Violet's hopeful voice on the phone, all I felt was a calm weariness, even found it somewhat ridiculous.
That bowl of chicken soup, that road to the hospital, that George lying in a hospital bed—none of it had anything to do with me anymore.
I no longer needed such opportunities, and I no longer held any unrealistic fantasies about George.
So I barely hesitated before refusing directly, "Grandma, I'm very busy with work right now. I'm afraid I won't be able to go to the hospital to see George."
My voice was very calm, even carrying a hint of formulaic politeness, "Why don't you have his assistant deliver it, or Ms. Wilson? Or you could ask George's friends—I'm sure they'd have more time than me."
This was the second time I'd clearly refused Violet.
The first time was yesterday, when I said something came up at the company.
This time, I didn't even make an excuse. I just stated that I was busy.
A long silence fell on the other end of the line.
So long I almost thought the connection had dropped, or that Violet had already hung up. Finally, Violet's somewhat slow voice came through the receiver, carrying disbelief and caution, "Grace, are you still angry?"
Her tone was careful, with the helplessness of an elder trying to mediate but not knowing how, "I already talked to George, told him to keep his distance from that Sarah from now on."
"He's a married man—what's he doing keeping another woman so close by? What does that look like!" Violet's voice carried anger at his failure to meet expectations, then softened again with reassurance and promise, "George agreed too. In a few days, he'll have Sarah move out, stop living at the Smith Villa."
"Grace, I'll always be on your side in this matter, don't worry."
Hearing these words, I held my phone as the corners of my mouth involuntarily pulled into a very faint curve.
There's no need, Grandma. Really, there's no need anymore.
Kick Sarah out of the Smith Villa?
That might solve the surface problem, give outsiders less to gossip about, make Violet feel better.
But what good would that do?
George's heart wasn't with me anymore. What difference did it make where people were?
If Sarah moved out, would George stop seeing her?
Would he stop taking care of this friend who had it so hard?
Removing the formal obstacles wouldn't change the substance.
I spoke softly, my tone devoid of emotion, only carrying a kind of indifference after the dust had settled, "Grandma, there's no need."
"Even if you separated them to different countries, as long as the heart cares, distance has never been a problem."
I paused, that sentence I really wanted to say rolling on my tongue.
So Grandma, I'm not angry. I just don't care anymore.
But in the end, I swallowed it back.
Violet was getting old, and her heart wasn't good.
That sentence was too final, too hurtful.
She was, after all, one of the few elders who had always shown me kindness.
I didn't want to hurt her with such blunt words.
But even though I didn't say it out loud, Violet on the other end seemed to hear something unusual in my abnormally calm, even distant tone.
She'd been through it all, spent a lifetime navigating the Smith family environment—what storms hadn't she seen, what hearts couldn't she see through?
She probably saw long ago that something was wrong between George and me, and not something small.
It's just that before, she might have still held hope, thought it was just a couple's quarrel that would pass in time, so she didn't interfere too much.
Now she realized how serious the problem was. She wanted to step in, wanted to salvage things.
But I didn't want it anymore.
The timing was wrong.
And so everything was wrong.