eters

it was his mother, Eleanor Phelps, who entered. She was impeccably d

elf up, my voice a

. Her cold eyes swept over me, not with concern, but wit

fer a single word of comfort. Her first

pened to

e didn't care about me; she cared about my w

n hospital blanket. "I'm sor

hair. "You 'lost it'?" she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. "Ava, do you h

*our grandchild*. Not *yo

turning white. I said nothing. My sil

ng. "A girl with your background... your stock simply isn't s

e saw not just a disappointing daughter-in-law, but an echo of a woman she'd faced down long ago. She had never approved of me, of my mi

had his pick of anyone." She paused for effect. "A girl like Brooke Shelton, for instance. A brilliant

family, I was a placeholder. Brooke was,

e first time, I didn't try to hide my feelings. I

hen her expression hardened into an

sture of pure, unadulterated condescension. She looked do

e people like Brooke. Your job is to support him, quietly, and n

pe that I might find some small corner of acceptance in this f

ly," she commanded, her voice devoid of any warmth. "You need to get

ore than a vessel for h

ugh tore through me, sending a bolt of agony th

heart that h

ysterical sound that quickly turned

. Harrison. This