Chapter 44
"Busy?" Layla's voice climbed several octaves, laced with offended anger. "Are you going to work AGAIN? You never had to work before—is your job suddenly more important than us?"
The words sliced through Caroline like a dull knife, slowly carving into her heart.
"Yes." Caroline heard her own voice, cold as ice. "For me, it is."
Silence hung on the other end for several seconds before Layla's tearful accusation broke through. "I hate you, Mommy!"
Caroline closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed the end call button.
This was the first time she'd ever hung up on her children. An invisible hand seemed to squeeze her heart, making it almost impossible to breathe.
But she knew if she hadn't ended the call, she would have broken down crying in front of them, would have demanded to know why they were so close to Heidi, would have said even more things she'd regret.
---
In Windsor Villa, Layla stared at the suddenly darkened phone screen, stunned. Tears still clung to her long eyelashes, her small mouth slightly open, as if she couldn't process what had just happened.
"Mommy hung up on me?" She looked at Logan sitting across from her, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Logan set down his milk cup, his little brows furrowed with concern.
"Maybe she felt bad about breaking her promise and was too embarrassed to keep talking," he reasoned, though his heart fluttered with anxiety. "Next time we see her, we'll make her apologize properly, and punish her by making her cook BBQ Glazed Ribs for a whole week."
But Layla shook her head, her small hands unconsciously twisting the hem of her shirt. "That's not it," she whispered. "I think Mommy doesn't want anything to do with us anymore."
Was it because she'd gotten too close to Ms. White? Layla couldn't understand—Ms. White was so nice, why couldn't Mommy just like her?
---
In the examination room, the antiseptic smell crawling into her nostrils, the doctor removed his glasses and told Caroline, "Nothing serious. Your follow-up results show some improvement compared to before."
His pen scratched across her chart. "Remember, avoid getting angry at all costs. Women are particularly susceptible to emotional influences, and emotions can trigger all sorts of health issues."
Caroline lowered her gaze, her long eyelashes casting small shadows beneath her eyes. Angry? She couldn't remember what anger felt like anymore.
Perhaps she should have been angry with Arthur, but she just couldn't summon the emotion. More than anger, what she felt was resignation.
Caroline gave a slight smile. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing—at least it helped her recovery. "I understand. Thank you, doctor."
She folded the report and tucked it into her bag, stepping out into the hallway where footsteps echoed from various directions.
Just as she was about to leave, Caroline heard familiar voices—her mother, Naomi Cook, and Arthur.
Caroline froze mid-step, her heart clenched tight. She still remembered the last time she'd spoken with her family—when her mother Naomi had tearfully begged her to ask Arthur for a five-million-dollar loan.
After Caroline refused, Naomi had called her "ungrateful" and "heartless" over the phone. Since then, she'd sworn never to set foot in her family home again.
But blood ties were like vines—even when cut at the root, they somehow sprouted new shoots at unexpected moments, though only her mother and grandmother in the Hamilton family shared her blood.
"Arthur, I cannot thank you enough," Naomi's voice dripped with deliberate flattery, completely unlike her usual imperious manner at home. "If you hadn't given that east-side property to our company, the Hamilton Group truly wouldn't have survived this time."
Arthur's voice was flat, emotionless. "Mom, please, this is just normal business cooperation."
"Cooperation is cooperation, but we both know the truth." Naomi laughed lightly, her tone probing. "About that operating capital you loaned us last time... the company hasn't quite recovered yet, so it might take longer to pay back. Perhaps..."
"No rush," Arthur cut her off. "If you face more difficulties, you can come to me directly."
Caroline leaned against the cold wall, her fingertips turning to ice. She could almost picture her mother's smug expression.
Tiffany's words suddenly echoed in her ears: "Those Hamilton bloodsuckers—give them a single penny and you can forget about me being your mother-in-law."
Years ago, she'd been punished by Tiffany—forced to kneel all night—just for secretly slipping two thousand dollars to her grandmother.
Just as Caroline was about to push the door open, Naomi's words struck her heart like a sledgehammer.
"That girl Heidi at the company—she'll need your guidance." Naomi's voice lowered, though her flattery remained undisguised. "I think she's truly wonderful—cultured and accomplished. So much better than Caroline, who only knows how to bury herself in books."
"It's good to hear that you like her," Arthur replied, his voice betraying nothing.
"Of course I do." Naomi snickered. "I know you don't care for Caroline. I resent her too, occupying the position of your wife while unable to hold your heart. She can't even handle proper social events despite her background. What a waste of good family connections."
Caroline's nails dug deep into her palms, making her wince in pain. So this was how her mother saw her.
She couldn't bear to hear more. She turned and hurried toward the stairwell.
By the time Caroline returned to her apartment, the sun had already sunk below the horizon. She collapsed onto the sofa, lacking even the energy to turn on the lights.
Her phone screen lit up with a voice message from Logan, his voice thick with congestion: "Mommy, I caught a cold. I feel awful. Could you come home and stay with me?"
Her heart clenched painfully. Logan rarely got sick, but whenever he caught a cold, his temperature would spike above 102°F.
But the academic conference was about to begin, and she'd barely finished half of her materials. This was her first conference as an independent scholar since her marriage—she couldn't mess it up.
Yet her child's soft, vulnerable voice over the phone tugged at her heartstrings, impossible to ignore.
After ten full minutes of internal struggle, Caroline finally called Arthur.
"Logan has a cold," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Could you go back and check on him?"
Silence hung on the line for several seconds, punctuated by the sound of keyboard clicks.
"When I checked on him at noon, his fever had broken. Has it come back?"