Chapter 191
"Oh, so it's that money." Sarah drew out her words, as if suddenly realizing something. "No wonder it looked a bit familiar."
She took the envelope, weighed it in her hand, looked up at me, and explained, "Ms. Brown, I think you might have misunderstood. This money actually belongs to my uncle Tom. Because of some minor business misunderstanding in the past, he wanted to compensate your mother."
She deliberately emphasized the word "compensate."
"But your mother seems pretty stubborn and wouldn't accept it. She even gave my uncle a good scolding." She shrugged, putting on a helpless look. "My uncle is someone who cares about his reputation. He felt bad about it, so he asked George for help, to see if there was a way to pass along this gesture, or use it somewhere appropriate."
At this point, her face showed a smile mixing approval and superiority, "I didn't expect George to be so clever—he just used the money to pay your mother's medical bills and nursing care fees."
"This way, it solved the problem and avoided the awkwardness of your mother refusing in person. Two birds with one stone, pretty good."
I listened quietly as she finished.
Every word was like a red-hot needle, piercing my ears and burning my heart.
So that's how it was.
So this money wasn't George's charity at all, not even their joint marital property.
It was actually from that disgusting Tom, meant to compensate my mother.
George knew full well that Tom had harassed my mother, yet he still took the money.
And in this way, quietly, almost humiliatingly, he used this money on my mother.
I knew it—how could George suddenly have a change of heart and become so considerate?
He wasn't helping me at all. He was helping Sarah.
He was using this sneaky, underhanded method to help Tom smooth things over, to keep Sarah happy and Tom satisfied.
To please Sarah, to protect Tom's ridiculous pride, he would stop at nothing, using any dirty trick on me and my family.
A cold rage, mixed with the humiliation of being played, instantly shattered all my composure.
Looking at Sarah's face full of fake sympathy and smugness, the hatred in my eyes was almost tangible.
Sarah seemed startled by my undisguised hatred.
She immediately dropped her smile and put on an apologetic, wronged expression, "Ms. Brown, don't look at me like that. I'm sorry, I thought George had already explained everything to you. I didn't expect..."
She frowned slightly, her tone tinged with innocence, "It seems you're still very upset about what my uncle did before."
"My uncle really has apologized and tried his best to make amends. I hope you can understand."
She changed tack and launched into that nauseating spiel again: "Besides, business competition is all about ability and is perfectly fair. My uncle's company getting those projects shows his capability..."
Seeing my expression grow colder, she quickly added, steeringthe topic back to George, "So, Ms. Brown, please don't hate George. He definitely didn't mean it. He probably just wanted to handle this in a more tactful way. He absolutely didn't mean to upset you."
Didn't mean it?
Didn't mean to upset me?
Hearing her twist the truth like this, I felt my stomach churn, nausea rising in my throat.
This pair of scumbags really were made for each other.
I didn't want to hear another word from her. One more second here, and I was afraid I'd lose control and hit her.
I spun around, ignoring Sarah, pulled out my phone, and called George directly.
I wanted to ask him myself if he had really sunk this low.
If he really could be this shameless for Sarah's sake.
The phone rang for a long time until it automatically disconnected. No one answered.
Did he not hear it, or did he just not want to answer?
Looking at the darkened phone screen, the rage and hatred in my heart strangely settled and condensed into a cold stone.
I tossed the money from the envelope directly onto the hallway cabinet.
"The money's returned. Message delivered."
Without another glance at Sarah, I turned and strode out of that suffocating place.
Sitting in my car, I didn't start the engine right away.
The pent-up anger in my chest needed an outlet.
I picked up my phone and opened my chat with George.
It was a conversation I hadn't initiated in a long time, still labeled "Husband."
I typed word by word, my fingertips turning white from the pressure:
[George, sign the divorce papers.]
[I don't want this to get ugly in court.]
Click. Send.
On the way back, Mom called, her tone cautiously probing. "Grace, is everything resolved?"
I took a deep breath, suppressing all emotion from my voice, trying to sound relaxed and calm, "It's resolved, Mom. I've returned the money to him. Don't worry."
I didn't want her to know those disgusting details, didn't want to cast a shadow over her recently improved mood.
"That's good, that's good." Mom sighed with relief on the other end.
A few days later, Mom could finally be discharged.
I went to the hospital to pick her up and handle the discharge procedures.
In the hospital room, Echo and I packed up while Mom sat on the bed with a rare, relaxed smile.
As we were busy, a nurse walked in with a professional smile, but her eyes showed some difficulty and curiosity.
"Ms. Brown, the discharge procedures are all done. Um..." The nurse hesitated. "Mr. Smith instructed us before that when Ms. Murphy is discharged, we should notify him. He'll arrange a car or come personally. Should we wait? Or should we call Mr. Smith?"
George was a shareholder of this private hospital.
Given his status, naturally the hospital staff didn't dare ignore his instructions.
Looking at the nurse's inquiring eyes with a hint of pressure, my heart felt ice-cold.
George was certainly thoughtful.
Even for Mom's discharge, he wanted to be involved. Was he trying to show off his influence, or to keep forcing his presence on us?
I pulled my lips into a smile without any warmth, my voice clear and cold, "No need, thank you."
Looking at the nurse, I stated clearly and firmly, drawing a clear line, "We have nothing to do with him anymore. From now on, regarding anything about us, you don't need to contact him or follow any of his instructions."
The nurse's smile froze, looking somewhat awkward, but she didn't say more, just nodded and left.
After helping Mom into the car and loading all the luggage and medicationfrom the hospital, I got into the driver's seat.
The car slowly pulled away from the hospital.
Mom sat in the passenger seat, watching the street scenes rapidly recede outside. After a moment of silence, she suddenly asked softly, "Grace, is George making things difficult for you again? I saw how that nurse looked..."
Gripping the steering wheel, I stared straight ahead, my voice calm without a ripple, "What more can he do to me?"
My tone carried an almost numb exhaustion and disgust. "He's made things difficult enough already. So much that I'm almost numb to it now."
"It's really disgusting."
The car fell silent.
After a while, Mom let out a heavy, long sigh beside me.
That sigh contained heartache, helplessness, acceptance of the past, and worry about my future.
I said nothing more.
For a marriage to reach the point George and I had—mutual disgust, constant hurt, less than strangers—it was truly worse than nothing.