Chapter 27 A Sharp Woman’s Scream
“Maryanne, I really have to thank you. Your divorce was remarkably swift. It seems Cristofer has come back to me.” She tilted her chin, a gesture of smug satisfaction.
Latoya continued, “After all, I am the rightful daughter of the Nielsen family. Cristofer’s parents adore me. Do you truly grasp their perception of you? His mother regards you merely as the household’s maid–not even worthy of being considered a real daughter–in–law.
“You toil for them day in, day out, cleaning and cooking. Yet, they show you no gratitude. Instead, they treat you like hired help, summoning you when convenient and dismissing you when they don’t. That’s their view of you. Do you know why?”
Maryanne fixed her with an icy stare, remaining silent.
She knew full well that Cristofer’s mother, sister, and younger brother harbored nothing but contempt for her.
Only his grandmother had shown her any warmth.
She had endured the most cutting insults within the Jimenez family, words she’d never imagined hearing in her life.
Yet, driven by her love for Cristofer, she had endured it all.
Latoya’s smile widened, sharp and victorious. “It’s because of who you are. You’re an orphan. True, our family took pity and offered you shelter, but you were raised in the countryside, never even formally acknowledged as part of our family…”
Maryanne cut her off, her voice low but firm, “Why should I
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acknowledge myself as a Nielsen? I stand on my own. Don’t you dare associate me with the Nielsen family.”
She hadn’t chosen her origins; as a baby, she’d been utterly powerless.
“Your father knew I was switched at birth, yet he kept the truth from me. You have no right to mock me. Regardless of my background, it is none of your concern.”
She had never sought conflict with Latoya.
Her principle in life was simple: live and let live. As long as others left her be, she extended them the same courtesy.
But if someone crossed her and repeated their mistake, they would regret it deeply.
Latoya sneered, “Perhaps you were simply destined for a low station. Even if you were mistakenly taken, what does it matter? How exceptional could your biological family possibly be? Maryanne, stay far away from Cristofer. Or, don’t blame me if I’m forced to be… forceful.”
With a final, haughty glare, Latoya swept away, her steps an affected display of elegance.
Maryanne let out a choked sob, more anger than laughter, but a sharp, stinging pain lanced through her heart.
Perhaps it was the pregnancy making her overly sensitive; tears she couldn’t control began to spill freely.
“Cristofer… I hate you, Why did you betray me?”
The thought of the banquet hall was unbearable. Maryanne turned away, seeking solace in the nearby restrooms.
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The footsteps faded into silence. Only then did Cristofer emerge from
the restroom.
He recalled her voice, trembling with tears as she cried out, “Cristofer, I hate you.” His gaze followed her retreating back, his eyes growing deeper, more enigmatic, masking emotions too complex to decipher.
He turned abruptly, walking in the opposite direction, his eyes cold and dark.
Maryanne found solitude in the rest area. Impressive drifts of daffodils were interspersed with scattered bunches of lilies.
She preferred roses, with their thorns, a quiet reflection of her own
nature.
Unbidden, the memory surfaced of Cristofer presenting her with roses. “Ms. Nielsen, these thorny red roses suit you perfectly. Look, I got pricked–my hand’s bleeding.”
She would always tease him back, “Cristofer, you’re so clumsy, always getting pricked by rose thorns.”
“But Marya, you don’t understand. I hold them close to my chest when I come because you love them. I treat them like treasure when I’m out.”
At the time, she’d been speechless, yet profoundly happy. He had an uncanny knack for knowing what pleased her.
Why had they, who had loved each other so deeply, drifted so far apart? By the time they met again, they were practically strangers.
A sharp, suffocating pain seized her heart. Her gaze fixed blankly on the distant landscape,
Maryanne lowered her head, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips. She laughed at her eighteen–year–old self–so naive. She laughed at herself
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for giving her heart to the wrong person. She laughed at her own reckless vulnerability.
Just as the wave of sadness washed over her, a sharp woman’s scream shattered the quiet nearby, “Ah!”
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