Chapter 83: Elena Ward Pressed Her Lips Together

Elena Ward pressed her lips together, remaining silent. Monica Grant understood—these days, every family hid their shame, swallowing their bitterness like broken teeth, terrified of becoming the town’s laughingstock.

"Ah, if you don’t want to talk, don’t." Monica sighed. "Every family has its troubles. Take me—I’ve suffered just like your sister. Three daughters, and my mother-in-law acted like I’d doomed their precious Harris bloodline. Look at your uncle—obsessed with that nephew of his, treating Derek Harlan like his own son. And what kind of man is Derek? Nothing but trouble! Just wait—you’ll see!" She shot her husband, James Grant, a venomous glare.

James’s face darkened. Why did his wife have to air their dirty laundry in front of a girl?

"Enough!" he snapped.

"Enough?" Monica’s voice rose. "You’d hand everything we own to Derek, wouldn’t you? Your mother never lets us forget we have no son—every scrap of good fortune goes to him. We paid for that house, and what does Derek do? Lazes around, useless even to his own parents! You think he’ll take care of us when we’re old? Dream on!" Her chest heaved with fury.

James’s face burned. Humiliated in front of an outsider, his temper flared.

"Will you shut up? You think it’s my fault we have no son? If we had one, would I be begging my mother for money? Who’ll care for us when we’re old? Just rot away? Who’ll carry on the family name? We’ll die with no one to mourn us!"

The words stabbed Monica like knives. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she collapsed beside Elena, sobbing uncontrollably. The absence of a son was her deepest wound, and anyone could rub salt in it.

Elena took Monica’s calloused hand, the rough patches of hard labor scraping against her palm. These two had suffered so much—all because of a son’s worth over daughters. And where had it left them?

"Auntie, don’t cry." Elena patted Monica’s hand gently before turning to James. "Uncle, I don’t like what you’re saying. Since we’re on the subject, let me tell you about my sister’s family."

"My sister had two daughters—bright, well-behaved girls. But because they weren’t sons, her mother-in-law forced them to adopt a nephew. That boy demanded meat and new clothes the moment he stepped in, turning the house upside down. My sister’s family wasn’t rich—how could they afford it? Then he pointed at her and screamed that daughters were worthless, that everything belonged to him. Said if they didn’t spoil him, he’d let them starve when they got old, leave them to die alone!"

James stiffened. Why did that sound so familiar?

"Can you believe that? A child saying such things—who taught him? My sister sent him back, saying she couldn’t afford to keep him. Her mother-in-law flew into a rage, beat her bloody, called her a barren hen, and forced a divorce. And her sister-in-law sneered, saying sons were the only rightful heirs..."

Elena’s voice cracked. "In the end, my sister divorced. Her husband fell ill, and no one even brought him water. His sister stole their home. My sister and her girls live in a shack now. The children scavenge for coal and scraps after school..."

James’s blood ran cold. Wasn’t this their future? Hadn’t Derek said the same things? If he were bedridden one day...

Monica wiped her tears and clapped. "Your sister did right! Let the heartless suffer! Favor outsiders over your own flesh and blood? What nonsense!"

Suddenly, it all made sense. Better to divorce and split their assets than let Derek bleed them dry. At least then, their daughters would have something.