Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

Chapter 258

Rosalind felt sick to her stomach, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Charlotte cut her off.

"So this is how you really feel about me? All this bitterness and spite-guess that's the real you, isn't it? I never expected you to be so cruel, to hate me so much that you can't even stand the sight of me. All I wanted was one meal at the same table with the father I haven't seen in years."

Then, Charlotte's voice suddenly softened, feigning understanding.

"But of course, I get it. You're angry. You've suffered. It's fine. If I'm not welcome at the table, I'll just eat my dinner on the front porch. Maybe from now on, I'll be the Harvey family's watchdog. Call it my penance-atoning for my mother's sins like I should."

Without another word, she stood, picked up the largest platter of roast meat, and strode toward the front door as if she truly meant to kneel outside and eat.

Charlotte didn't care about embarrassment. She'd dropped out of high school, working every odd job she could to pay for her mother's medical bills. She'd seen every shade of hardship, scraped her knees raw, and split her forehead open more times than she could count.

She had no reputation left to protect her pride was long gone. She'd do anything, sacrifice anything, if it meant saving her mother. Dignity was a luxury she couldn't afford.

Some people said shamelessness was a kind of invincibility. Maybe they were right.

Balancing the heavy plate of food, Charlotte walked steadily toward the doorway, ignoring the commotion behind her.

by Charlotte's words that her face flushed crimson. She tried to shout back,

up in alarm. "Mom!"

jaw clenched, veins pulsing at his temples. He barked, "Stop

until her father called her back twice more. Only then did

turned, tears streaking her face. "I didn't think

ordered the servants to help his wife to her room and massaged his aching forehead. He glanced coldly at Charlotte, then spoke in a clipped

now on, be downstairs for dinner when you're

with grateful tears.

Upstairs, in the bedroom.

been back with her mother long before Rosalind came to. She looked pale and drained, clutching her daughter's hand tightly, silent

have someone so low-born and sharp-tongued in our house. Who knows how she'll twist your father

Mom. It's

her best to soothe her. "She's all talk—no power, no influence, no

lingered. She still wasn't

your engagement to the Montgomery family as soon as possible. That's the only way you'll be safe. Your father's right, too—if you can't