“So disgusting.” Irene wrinkled her nose as she glanced at the mess I had just vomited. Her tone was sharp, her expression filled with disdain.
She had never endured the darkness of prison, never known the depths of hunger or the value of survival. She couldn’t possibly understand how precious life was to me now. Every breath, every moment, was something I’d clawed my way back for.
The life she so effortlessly enjoyed now—the comfort, the warmth, the love—it should have been mine.
As the nausea subsided, a dull ache throbbed in my stomach. I couldn’t even remember when this pain first began. During the worst days, I’d drink cold water just to numb it.
Dinner ended in suffocating silence. I was about to retreat upstairs to my old room when Irene stepped in front of me, her smile sweet but her eyes cutting.
Mrs. Bolton followed, handing me a document with an air of cool finality. “Amelia, let’s be realistic. Your current situation is no longer compatible with Gilbert’s status. He’s a director in the group now, and your criminal record is... unfortunate. It’s unbecoming. This is a divorce agreement. If you sign it, we’ll still help you get back on your feet.”