Chapter 2188
By the time Cecilia took Phoebe’s seat, the afternoon sun had already slid past four. Five o’clock loomed, and the women began gathering their handbags and sunglasses, preparing to leave.
None of them ever had to cook, yet each still hurried home to tend to her husband.
“Same time tomorrow,” one of them suggested.
Reluctant laughter rippled through the foyer as they drifted apart in pairs and trios.
As Cecilia walked them to the door, she caught a glimpse of the quiet sweetness of their days—skincare routines, idle chatter, hours passing without urgency. A morning face mask, an afternoon game, and somehow another week would vanish like smoke.
When she returned, Phoebe was still there, venting to Elena.
Late-afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, casting long amber streaks across the polished floor. Elena’s manicured fingers tapped against a coffee cup until she finally burst out, her voice brittle with worry and disbelief.
“You have no idea—Chelsea actually ran off to work at some third-rate firm. They’re paying her barely three thousand a month. I can’t imagine how she plans to survive on pocket change like that.”
Everyone in the neighborhood knew Phoebe had once sworn—loudly and publicly—to cut her daughter off for good. Yet behind that fierce front, she never stopped paying people to track every scrap of news about Chelsea, terrified of missing even the faintest update.
Elena, who had heard this story far too many times, folded her hands with practiced calm. “They have their own lives. Don’t worry so much.”
“How can I not worry?” Phoebe snapped. “She’s my only daughter. Men are predators when money’s involved. Ninety-nine percent of them just want a slice of the Rainsworth fortune. That’s why I keep trying to find her a proper match—someone with a background as solid as ours. But does she listen? Of course not. She insists on clinging to that penniless Jason.”
Elena raised an eyebrow, choosing her words carefully. “Didn’t you freeze her credit cards? Sooner or later, she’ll taste hardship and come back to apologize.”
“I pray you’re right.” Phoebe sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That girl is stubborn as an oak. Neither her father nor I can sway her an inch.”
As she spoke, her gaze drifted to Cecilia and the two boys beside her. Envy flickered across her finely lined features.
“If only my daughter were half as capable as you, Ceci.”
Cecilia smiled gently. “Please don’t say that. Chelsea is brilliant and beautiful. She’s bound to do something extraordinary sooner or later.”
Deep down, Cecilia couldn’t believe Chelsea would truly stake her entire future on Jason.
“Besides,” she added lightly, “the Jamieson family hasn’t produced a single son either, and look at me—I’m still standing tall. No one pushes me around, right?”
Phoebe waved the comparison away, frustration sharpening her voice. “That’s different. You married Nathaniel—he’s capable, dependable. Jason isn’t fit to polish Nathaniel’s shoes. If he had even half of Nathaniel’s ability, I could finally sleep at night.”
Cecilia fell silent. She didn’t want to upset her.
After escorting the anxious mother to her waiting car, Elena let out a breath and turned back to Cecilia. “Has Chelsea contacted you at all?”
Cecilia nodded. “Yes. We stay in touch.”
“So she really is that taken with Jason?” Elena asked, pressing two fingers to her temple as if the thought alone gave her a headache.
Lately, every visit from Phoebe turned into the same complaint.
“From the looks of it, things won’t go Aunt Phoebe’s way,” Cecilia replied.
Elena sighed helplessly. “She brings it up every single time. I’m praying this resolves itself soon.”
Cecilia followed her back into the house.
Just then, Wren stepped through the front door, fatigue etched deep into his distinguished features.
Cecilia straightened. “Wren.”
He nodded wearily. “Ceci. You’re here. Where’s Nathaniel?”
“Still at the office. He’ll be late,” she answered.
Wren nodded again, his shoulders sagging as though every movement cost him extra effort.
Elena shot him a sharp glance. “What happened to you? You look ready to collapse.”
“Nothing,” Wren muttered. He released a long, tired breath and sank onto the couch, as if the cushions were the only thing keeping him upright.
Cecilia and Elena exchanged a look—shared confusion flickering between them, each waiting for the other to name the unease they both felt but couldn’t yet explain.