Save Her Lose Us (Evangeline and Soren) novel Chapter 231

Evangeline knew all too well that Winston didn’t summon her back out of any pure intention.

This time, though, she hesitated.

Back when she was away, Winston and Hazel cleared out every trace of her mother from the house—every keepsake, every cherished item, even the photo albums filled with memories of her and her mom. Not a single thing was spared.

It had been five years since then. All Evangeline had left of her mother were the fading fragments of memory in her mind.

She desperately wanted those photographs.

But after a few minutes of turning it over in her head, she let it go.

Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to be manipulated by anyone over these things.

For a long time, Evangeline had believed her mother’s dying wish for her to marry Soren was simply to fulfill her own hopes. Only much later did she understand: her mother must have suspected Winston would remarry and that Evangeline would be ostracized by the Whitmore family, left without any inheritance, struggling even to remain under their roof.

So, her mother had risked public scorn and arranged for her to marry Soren, hoping to protect her.

Old Mrs. Fawkes hadn’t wanted to see her at anyone’s mercy, either. When the divorce came, she’d given Evangeline shares in the Fawkes family business.

Whether or not she could keep them in the end, at least outsiders would think twice before trying to harm her.

She couldn’t let down her mother and Old Mrs. Fawkes for their kindness.

So Evangeline decided not to dwell on it any longer.

But just as she arrived at her office building, Winston’s name flashed across her screen—it was a video call.

He was holding a thick photo album, flipping it open and angling it toward the camera. Instantly, Evangeline recognized the photos of her and her mother.

In one, her mother wore a beige dress with tiny polka dots, her elegant brown hair swept up, looking gentle and beautiful as ever.

She was kneeling beside Evangeline, using a handkerchief to gently wipe Evangeline’s messy hands. Dough clung to Evangeline’s fingers, flour dusted her round cheeks, and a little girl—Theresa—sat cross-legged on the floor, rolling dough between her small palms.

The table beside them was covered with odd, misshapen lumps of dough. In the background, an old, battered oven—yellowed and blackened—completed the scene of chaos.

It was her mother’s birthday that year. She and Theresa had schemed to bake a cake as a surprise, but not only had they failed spectacularly, they’d somehow managed to blow up the oven.

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