Blanche stood frozen as she watched Eddy sweep Jeannette up in his arms, carrying her inside the villa as if the world belonged to just the two of them.
When the heavy front door slammed shut, it felt as though a wall had gone up between Blanche and everything she thought she knew, cutting her off from his world completely.
She pounded on the door, her pain nearly unbearable, her mind slipping further away with each ragged breath. "Eddy, come out here," she pleaded hoarsely. "Tell me the truth. Please."
Closing her eyes, Blanche felt tears spill down her cheeks, tracing cold lines over her skin.
Had it all been a lie? The man who once risked everything to save her, who pulled her out of her darkest moments—had he never truly loved her? Was it all just a game to him from the very beginning?
Suddenly, the door jerked open, and Blanche found herself face-to-face with Rhoda, whose eyes blazed with contempt.
"What the hell are you making all this noise for in the middle of the night?" Rhoda snapped, her patience frayed.
Blanche didn't dignify her with a response. "Move," she said, her voice brittle.
"Move? Why should I? This is my house. The deed's in my daughter's name. What right do you have to barge in here?" Rhoda glared, determined to keep Blanche from ruining her daughter's big night.
She took in Blanche's ashen face and the way she clutched her chest, looking as though she might collapse at any moment. A dark thought flickered in Rhoda's mind.
Back then, when Sheila tried to destroy their family, it was because Blanche had stumbled upon Pollock and Sheila together, suffered a heart attack, and nearly died. Just a few days ago, Blanche had another attack. How many more could she survive?
Once Blanche was gone, everything—Eddy, the Simmons fortune, the house—would fall into her daughter's lap.
"Sickly little thing, can't even be touched. What man would put up with that? My Jean did you a favor, and instead of being grateful, all you do is come here to cause trouble. You're just like your mother—useless, couldn't keep a man if your life depended on it. Instead of blaming yourself, you blame everyone else." Rhoda planted her hands on her hips, her voice sharp as a whip. "Why do you even want to go in? Didn't you hear them? They're having the time of their lives."
From upstairs, Jeannette's moans and Eddy's heavy breathing echoed down, slicing through Blanche like a knife.
Rhoda's words struck deep. Blanche was frail—after giving birth to Healy, her health had only gotten worse. But none of that justified Eddy's betrayal.
Fighting through the heartbreak, Blanche raised her hand and slapped Rhoda hard across the face. "You don't deserve to mention my mother."
Rhoda clapped a hand to her reddened cheek, hissing in outrage. "If your mother hadn't had a bit of money, Pollock would never have looked twice at her! If anyone was a homewrecker, it was her—she's the one who stole my husband. She knew full well I already had a son with him, and still she threw herself at him."
"How's the baby?" Blanche lay on the hospital bed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Blanche, your baby's a fighter," Sophie said, her eyes shining with tears she tried to blink away. "But your health is in a dangerous state. As the baby grows, it'll keep draining your strength, your energy—maybe even your life. You only just had heart surgery. If you don't take care of yourself, I'm afraid you might not survive childbirth."
"I understand. Thank you for coming tonight."
After Sophie left, Blanche forced herself to sit up, pushing back the covers with trembling hands.
Fernando rushed to her side, pressing her gently back down. "Laney, you—"
"I have to go back."
Fernando lost his composure, his voice rising in frustration. "You're this sick, and he leaves you alone to chase after another woman. He doesn't deserve your love!"
Blanche stared at him, stunned. No one had ever spoken to her like that—not her mother, not Loraine, not Eddy. Everyone else had always tiptoed around her, treating her like she might break.
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