Chapter 140: Daniel Whitmore Remained Silent Throughout the Journey Home

Daniel Whitmore remained silent throughout the journey home.

Helen Whitmore quietly grasped his hand.

He forced a faint smile, signaling he was fine.

Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to his mother's favoritism. Such unpleasant partings were nothing new.

But when it came to Clara, even his gentle temper couldn't tolerate those venomous slanders.

As they stepped inside, Helen moved toward the kitchen, only to be stopped by Clara.

"Mom, I'll cook today."

"You?"

Helen and Daniel exchanged glances, mutual astonishment reflected in their eyes.

The Clara they knew had always avoided even stepping into the kitchen.

"Let me show you what I can do."

"Try not to blow up the kitchen," Daniel teased.

Clara's eyes widened. "Do you really think that little of me?"

In perfect unison, her parents nodded.

Clara: "..."

One hour later—

The dining table was laden with dishes boasting vibrant colors and tantalizing aromas.

Stir-fried kidney glistened with oil, tomato beef stew emitted mouthwatering fragrance, and shredded pork with garlic sauce tempted the eyes.

Helen swallowed hard. "You made all this?"

Clara lifted her chin proudly.

Daniel took a bite, his eyes instantly brightening. "This is amazing!"

Still skeptical, Helen picked up a spare rib.

"Hiss—" She inhaled sharply. "When did you learn to cook like this?"

"Didn't spend those years away for nothing." Clara urged, "Eat before it gets cold."

After dinner, Clara pressed her parents onto the sofa and cleared the table herself.

Before reaching the living room, she overheard Daniel's choked voice: "Vicky... our girl must've suffered terribly these years."

"Seeing how skilled she's become in the kitchen..." Helen's voice carried equal heartache.

Clara's eyes burned.

Outside, the snowstorm raged through the night.

But inside, warmth blossomed like spring.

At dawn, Daniel warned, "The balcony door broke in last night's storm. Stay away from it these days."

The aging faculty housing seemed especially fragile against the winter onslaught.

Clara glanced around, truly noticing how the decor remained frozen in her childhood—yellowed wallpaper, outdated furniture.

Suddenly, raised voices erupted outside.

"What gives you the right to accuse me? Because you're some failed writer?"

Clara and Daniel rushed out to find Helen trembling with rage, while Brooke Walsh smirked triumphantly.