“You just want more money. I can give you more. Just apologize to Bianca,” Jasper insisted.
I never expected to see Jasper display this kind of face. To protect Bianca’s reputation, hel actually had the nerve to shift the blame back onto me.
So I went along, replying, “Fine. I can apologize. Tell me, how much will one apology cost me? If you’re willing to pay up, I’ll apologize until you’re broke.”
Jasper’s frown deepened. He clearly hadn’t expected me to flip his little script like that.
Bianca couldn’t keep her mouth shut when the second sum of money came in.
She put on that pitiful, wounded act and whined, “Jasper, I don’t want her apology. She wouldn’t mean it anyway. Just make things clear with her today. Save us the trouble of her stalking us and spreading lies. I don’t want my children influenced by someone like her.”
Of course, the onlookers jumped right in with their commentary.
“Looks like she just doesn’t want the divorce. Trying to wring more money out of Mr. Coleman by causing a scene,” one woman muttered, shaking her head.
Across the room, another voice piped up. “Seriously, how could some farm girl be worthy of Mr. Coleman? Look at her! Does she really think she’s all that?”
Even further back, someone else chimed in, nodding toward Bianca. “She’s throwing dirt at another woman just to save her skin. Calling someone a whore? That’s disgusting.”
Jasper put on an air of generosity, speaking with forced calm. “Go home for now. I’ll give you an explanation. I won’t let you be wronged.”
He even motioned for me to leave, like he was the magnanimous one.
My smile for him was forced, the kind that comes from a wounded heart.
“Jasper, over a chicken, you treat me like this? Remarkable,” I replied.
Bianca’s face twisted with fury. She let out a shrill cry and snapped, “Who are you calling a chicken? That’s too much. You’re the real chicken!”
Someone in the crowd, eager to stir the pot, shouted half–jokingly, “Is there really someone out there doing that for money?”
I raised my hand and pointed straight at Bianca, my voice ringing out so every single person could hear. “She is a prostitute! She’s been doing it for five years–plenty of men and money.”
“Enough!” Jasper’s roar cut through the air.
Veins throbbed at his temples, and the fury in his eyes locked on me like a final warning not to push him over the edge.
Bianca collapsed into a dramatic sob, choking out her words. “You’re trying to ruin me and the babies! You’ve spread rumors about me since we were kids. I give up, okay? Just leave me alone!”
Then, like clockwork, she played the same old retreat–to–advance game. “Jasper, I’ll raise the children myself. As long as you’re with me, Katie will call me a prostitute. How can I live like that?”
Charter 2.
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And Jasper, of course, still shielded her.
He clutched her tight and jabbed his finger at me, shouting, “You’re the prostitute! Do you not know why I want a divorce? Because of you, because of what you do! Stop talking nonsense!”
For a moment, I froze.
Jasper’s words sliced through me, leaving a dull, tearing ache in my chest, like my heart had been ripped into pieces.
Then Joanne’s voice cut through, sharp as a whip.
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“Katie, my son has treated you well enough, yet you’re so unchaste, sleeping with so many men, being a free whore. You betrayed the marriage and ruined my son. What right have you to accuse him? You slut!”
This was the same woman I had cared for eight years ago when her legs were paralyzed. I had bathed, fed, carried her bedpans, and nursed her back to health. Now she stood tall and, with a single sentence, drove an invisible blade straight through my chest.
My mother–in–law’s accusations shifted the tide.
The crowd wavered, their gazes sharp and accusing, and suddenly it was me they saw as the whore who slandered others to cover her own filth. Every pair of eyes felt like a knife stabbing into me.
Then Jasper, still acting all high and mighty, grabbed my arm.
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