Chapter 2207

“Ceci, I’m out of options,” Phoebe confessed the moment Cecilia arrived. “Talk to your cousin—she actually listens to you.”

Cecilia’s heart jolted when she learned that Chelsea had nearly been hit by a car earlier that day.

She nodded once. “I’ll try my best. But if she won’t listen, please don’t blame me.”

“You’re an angel for helping,” Phoebe murmured, watching Cecilia disappear through the bedroom door.

Chelsea lay on her bed, eyes shut yet restless, her stomach cramping with the hunger she stubbornly refused to acknowledge.

The soft click of the door handle made her brow tighten.
“Get out! I’m still not eating!” she shouted toward the sound.

“Chelsea, it’s me,” Cecilia replied, her voice calm but firm.

Chelsea’s eyes flew open. The instant she saw Cecilia’s familiar face, every wall she’d built collapsed.

“C-Ceci…” Embarrassment flushed her cheeks, turning her fierce protest into a fragile whisper.

Cecilia crossed the small room in swift strides. “Tell me everything. What drove you to this?”

The words tumbled out. Chelsea spoke of her love for Jason, her parents’ refusal, and the blazing argument that had ended with her virtual confinement.

Cecilia listened in silence before saying, “Starving yourself won’t change their minds.” Privately, she admitted she’d only ever seen something like this in television dramas.

It amazed her that Chelsea—grown, poised, and clever—would resort to a hunger strike like a rebellious teenager.

Chelsea sat up with a sigh. “They’re too stubborn. Once they get an idea in their heads, they won’t let it go. Without a childish move like this, they’ll never let me leave this house.”

“I won’t lie,” Cecilia said. “Your mom asked me to convince you to eat.”

Chelsea blinked, startled by the honesty.

“They love you more than anything,” Cecilia continued. “There has to be a better way to win them over.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Chelsea exhaled.
“Fine. I’ll eat.”

She knew her parents had pampered her from the day she learned to walk. The thought of hurting them stabbed at her chest—sharper than any hunger pang.

With Cecilia beside her, she lifted the tray and ate—big, determined spoonfuls, as if swallowing not food but resolve.

Phoebe chuckled softly as she watched.

Past

“Ceci, only you can handle her,” Phoebe said. “This girl refuses to listen to me and would even go so far as to starve herself. Do you remember the last time she pulled this stunt? She was five—maybe six—and refused to eat because I wouldn’t let her play with her toys.”

The memory struck Chelsea like lightning.

Back then, she had refused to eat, and Phoebe had been so terrified that her little girl would starve herself to death that she’d stopped eating too.

What Phoebe never knew was that Chelsea had sneaked into the pantry and eaten in secret.

Her throat tightened with guilt. She lowered her head and continued eating in silence.

Phoebe slid a glass of water toward her. “Slow down, sweetheart. Don’t choke,” she murmured, the rim of the pitcher clinking softly against the table.

In the Rainsworth household, Phoebe never so much as touched a dishpan, yet she waited on Chelsea as though the girl were porcelain—her single, treasured responsibility.

“Mom… have I broken your heart?” Chelsea asked, shame trembling beneath the question.

Phoebe blinked in surprise, then smiled and gently shook her head.

“Silly girl,” she said, her tone tender rather than scolding.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Chelsea whispered, the apology rising straight from her heart.

Joy flared in Phoebe’s eyes. “Chelsea, have you finally made up your mind?” she asked, her voice quivering with hope.

Chelsea lowered her gaze and shook her head, the motion small but resolute.

“No, Mom. I still don’t want to leave him,” she admitted softly. “I really do like him. If you force me to end it now… it will tear me apart.”

Phoebe’s moist eyes dimmed, sorrow folding into their shine.

Inside, a tide of empathy rose. After all, she had once been young and hopelessly in love. She remembered loving Kingston so fiercely that a single night apart had felt like a drought.

Phoebe exhaled. “Very well,” she said at last. “I won’t push you anymore. But you’ll have to convince your father yourself.”