Chapter 202
I didn't want to argue right and wrong with Violet at Milly's bedside, and I definitely didn't want to disturb Milly.
I turned my head and looked at Violet again. My expression was still cold, and my voice carried obvious distance and dismissal. "It's too late, Grandma. You've had a shock today too. Your health is what matters most. Please go home first. I'll take care of Milly here."
My continued coldness extinguished the last bit of hope Violet had for repairing our relationship.
Her face looked even worse, her lips trembling, her eyes full of hurt and deeper guilt.
In the past, seeing her like this, I would have softened immediately. I would have stepped forward to support her and comfort her with gentle words.
But now, I wasn't in the mood, and I didn't have the extra energy.
All my thoughts were on Milly, lying there unconscious.
Mom had just gotten out of the hospital, and we still had a pile of things to sort out at home. Then Milly had this terrible accident and almost died. All of this was because of the Smith family, because of George and Sarah.
How could I possibly have the heart to deal with Violet or maintain that surface warmth and politeness?
Besides, George had already asked for a divorce himself.
That suited me just fine.
From now on, I just wanted to take Milly and Mom far away from the Smith family, and never have anything to do with them again.
So toward Violet, the only one in the Smith family who still showed me any kindness, my attitude could only be cold and distant, drawing clear boundaries.
Violet looked at me and let out a heavy sigh.
In that sigh, there was helplessness, heartache, and a kind of desolation of everything falling apart.
Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something more, but I didn't want to listen anymore.
I stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open. Light from the hallway spilled in.
"Grandma, it's very late. Too many people in the room makes the air bad, and it will disturb Milly's rest. Could you please go home first?"
Violet was choked by these words, the hurt in her eyes almost overflowing.
She looked at me, wanting to speak but stopping herself. Finally, she couldn't help but ask the biggest worry in her heart, "Grace, did George say something to you just now? You two..."
Violet would find out about the divorce sooner or later.
But right now, at Milly's bedside, I really didn't have the mood or the need to explain in detail to her about the relationship between me and her grandson that was about to end.
"He didn't say anything," I cut her off briefly, my tone cold, "Let me walk you downstairs."
I stepped aside, gesturing for her to go first.
Seeing that I clearly didn't want to talk more, Violet's eyes dimmed. She walked out of the room with her cane, her steps somewhat unsteady.
I followed behind her and pressed the down button for the elevator.
The numbers on the elevator door jumped floor by floor.
In the quiet hallway, there was only the faint hum of the elevator running and the silent, oppressive air between us.
Just as the elevator door opened and Violet was about to step in, a familiar, cold male voice came from the other end of the hallway.
"Grandma."
George walked over quickly. His face didn't look great either, but he still maintained his usual composure.
He reached out and steadily supported Violet's arm.
"Didn't I tell you to rest well at home? You've had a shock today too. Your health is important, so you shouldn't be running around like this."
When Violet saw George, the anger she had suppressed flared up again.
She jerked her arm away from George's support, her voice trembling with anger, "You still have the nerve to say that!"
"Didn't I tell you long ago to move that Sarah out of the Smith family? Did you just ignore what I said?"
She pointed at George, so angry her chest was heaving.
"Not only didn't you make her move out, you brought her to the amusement park. If she hadn't taken it upon herself to make Milly ride that pirate ship, how would Milly have fallen? George, look at what you've done!"
George was respectful to Violet, at least on the surface.
There was no displeasure on his face. He just lowered his eyes slightly and apologized respectfully, "I'm sorry, Grandma. I didn't think this through. I've made you worry. I'll handle it properly."
"Handle it? How will you handle it?" Violet was clearly unsatisfied with his perfunctory answer and wanted to continue scolding him.
Just then, a nurse hurried over, looking a bit anxious, her gaze going straight to me, "Ms. Brown, the child is awake and crying for her daddy."
I didn't have time to think. I turned and rushed to the room.
Violet got anxious too and followed closely behind me with her cane, her steps unsteady but urgent.
George, the one who caused all this, just followed behind us unhurriedly.
Rushing into the room, I saw Milly's little face covered in tears, her eyes still red and swollen from just waking up, her little mouth pouting as she let out weak but stubborn cries, "Daddy, I want Daddy to hold me..."
At that moment, my heart ached so much it felt like it was being wrung dry.
I knew that no matter how cold and neglectful George was to her, in Milly's young heart, the presence of her father still represented an instinctive dependence and sense of security.
Especially in this vulnerable moment after being hurt, half-asleep and confused, what she instinctively sought was still that closest blood-related support.
But where was the daddy she kept calling for?
George stood at the bedside, just a few steps from the bed.
He could even see the tears rolling down Milly's face and hear her tearful calls.
But he didn't step forward.
Not even one step.
He didn't bend down, didn't reach out his hand. There wasn't even a trace of the heartache or anxiety a father should have on his face.
He just stood there, like an irrelevant bystander, his gaze calmly resting on the crying Milly.
As if those heart-wrenching calls of "Daddy" weren't meant for him.
Anger mixed with enormous sadness instantly broke through all my rationality.
"Milly, Mommy's here, Mommy will hold you," I practically threw myself to the bedside and pulled the crying Milly tightly into my arms, using my body to block her view of George.
My voice trembled with heartache and anger, but I tried to keep it gentle, "Milly, be good, don't be scared. Mommy's here, Mommy's holding you. Look at Mommy, Mommy's right here..."
I called her name over and over, gently patting her back, trying to use my warmth and voice to drive away her fear and hurt.
Milly struggled in my arms and cried even louder, her little hands flailing toward where George was standing, "Daddy, I want Daddy..."
I held her tightly, not letting her break free, my heart feeling like it was being fried repeatedly in hot oil.
George just stood there, coldly watching us mother and daughter struggle.
From beginning to end, he didn't make a sound, didn't say a word of comfort, and certainly didn't step forward as Milly wished, not even one step.
Violet couldn't stand it anymore.
She was shaking with anger. She walked up to George in a few steps, raised her hand and hit his shoulder and back hard, her voice sharp with rage, "George, are you dead? Your daughter is crying, calling for you. Can't you see? Can't you hear?"
"Go over there now! Hold her! Comfort her! What are you standing here for?"
George took Violet's hits without even swaying.
He didn't even frown. He just turned his head slightly, glanced at Violet, and responded flatly, "Grace is here."
"I'm not needed."
"Let's go, Grandma. You've had a shock today. Your health is important. You need to go home and rest properly."
Violet was so choked by his words she almost couldn't catch her breath. She pointed at him, her finger trembling, but couldn't get out a single curse.
She probably thought George was having some big fight with me and was sulking, which was why he was being so cold to Milly.
But she didn't know that George had always been like this toward us mother and daughter.
It wasn't sulking, it wasn't fighting. He simply never cared about us, never had.
Violet took a few rough breaths, trying to suppress her anger and ease this frozen, cold atmosphere.
She turned to me, forcing a difficult smile on her face, her voice softening, "Grace, you see, that's just George's temperament. Don't take it personally."
"I'll go home and make some chicken soup for Milly to help her recover. I'll have George bring it over, and he can spend time with Milly and apologize to you both."