50. She Challenged the Mother #2
And I wanted to, but when I tried to speak, no words came out.
My mouth was dry, and my heart stuck in my throat.
Sarah Sullivan had always intimidated me.
She stood there, all elegance, with her high cheekbones, still beautiful and perfectly put together even though she crept closer to sixty.
Her hatred for me was what hardened her features.
She’d never bothered to hide it. She didn’t now, either.
And I’d put up with it. I’d kept the peace and bit my tongue for Toby’s sake and in the hope Sarah would one day want to be a grandmother to Noah. But her prejudice against me was built into her DNA. She’d never accept me. She was never going to change.
But Toby and I had changed. Toby had stood up to her. He’d told her he wanted nothing to do with her—and he’d meant it. He’d chosen me.
A flicker of confidence ignited in my chest. I took a deep breath. Marnie’s whispered, “I got you,” was the final push I needed.
I looked Sarah dead in the eye. “Don’t speak to me like that,” I managed to choke out. “Don’t speak to me like that ever again.”
She hid her surprise behind a simpering smile. “You’re lucky I waste my breath on you at all. After everything you’ve done—”
“I’ve done nothing except love your son since I was sixteen.”
“Love?” She laughed. “You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.
You trapped my son. You sunk your claws into him when he was too young to know better.
” Her next smile was even less sincere than the one before it.
“Right from the start, I saw you for exactly what you were. You’re like your mother—nothing but an opportunistic little whore with no goal other than stealing the clothing off our backs. ”
I stopped Marnie from launching out of her seat by dropping a hand on her leg. Anger crackled. I could feel her seething. She wanted to unleash, but I needed to handle this on my own.
“I won’t let you talk to me like that anymore.” My voice was strong. I had this.
“The truth hurts.”
“That isn’t the truth, and you know it.”
“You orchestrated quite the plan to get what you wanted, didn’t you? How did you manage it?” Sarah sneered. “And as if the humiliation you subjected my husband to wasn’t enough, you abandoned my son and posted your private life all over the internet to turn us all into a laughingstock.”
What the hell was she talking about? “I posted one yard sale ad—”
“I’ve worked my entire life to protect my family’s good name, and you dragged it through the mud, never once thinking about anyone but yourself.”
“That isn’t true—”
“Marriage is about sacrifice. Hard work.” Sarah almost spat the words at me. “Toby deserves a wife who is his equal, not some pathetically broken woman for him to fix up like one of those old bloody cars he used to waste his time on.”
I blinked away the tears blurring my eyes.
That hurt. Not because Sarah had come at me—I was used to that—but to hear her belittle Toby again.
The few spots of joy in his life in the last few weeks had been spent with John Rawles in his garage.
Where would Toby be now if he’d been free to follow his dreams?
I hiked up my chin. “Toby deserves a wife who loves him unconditionally.”
“Well, that’s one thing we agree on.”
“He deserves someone who champions him no matter what.” I glared at her.
“Not a trophy wife who turns a blind eye to the terrible choices he makes when he’s miserable living up to his parents’ expectations.
” And in case she missed exactly where I was aiming my torpedo, I added, “Like your marriage.”
“How dare you? You know nothing—”
“I know enough,” I retorted. “And despite all your family connections, fancy clothes, and good breeding, I know Theodore wasn’t faithful to you. Maybe you could accept second best, but I won’t.”
“I was never second best.”
“Eighth best? Twentieth best? How many mistresses did your husband have exactly?”
Sarah’s head tipped back, and she laughed.
“Attempting to play with the big girls, are you? Try your tactics, but I’ve fought women far smarter than you.
There’s nowhere you can hit me that hurts.
And you scoff like duty’s nothing, but it’s everything.
I understood the sacrifice needed to hold my family together.
And who was left standing at the very end?
Who got the money? Not that tramp, Abigail. ”
“Wait, are you talking about Ian’s—”
“Teddy promised her the world, but she ended up with nothing. Not one penny.” Sarah loomed over the table, her mouth curved in an almost sinister smile.
“He may have paid for their little bastard to go to the same school, but that boy never became one-tenth of the man of my son. I won. I endured through it all. That is strength. That is the type of woman you’re not. ”
“You’re right,” I agreed quietly. “I’m not the same type of woman you are. I married a man for love, and when he slipped up and made the wrong choice, I demanded better. I was worth him stepping up to try harder. And he is. He chose me. Not Kayleigh. Not you .”
Sarah took a step back as if I’d slapped her. I’d managed to hit her where it hurt. She took an even bigger step back when Romeo appeared beside the table with a fresh cocktail for Marnie and a new Coke—complete with a little umbrella—for me.
“ Buonasera .” Romeo smiled. “Forgive me for arriving so late.” He slid into the seat beside Marnie and draped a lazy arm around her shoulders. “Who is your friend, sorellina ?” He asked Marnie the question, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were pinned to me.
This was…unexpected.
Marnie’s mouth dropped open. She was too shocked to say a word.
“No one,” I answered. “Mrs. Sullivan was just leaving.” Hopefully, forever, this time.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t over.”
“It is over,” I said. “Toby told you, and now I’m telling you. Not only does my husband deserve better than you, my son does, too. You’re not welcome in our lives.”
Sarah blinked, stunned.
“ Ciao ciao ,” Romeo said, waving her away.
Sarah lifted her chin and spun around with a sneer on her lips, but the steps she took across the yacht club weren’t as self-assured as when she’d first arrived. She was rattled.
Me too.
I’d backed Toby’s mother into a corner. She’d spewed more weaknesses than I’d ever imagined possible. The mental jigsaw in my mind unscrambled, mismatched pieces flying off the pile, snapping together to create a picture.
Abigail.
Penniless.
With a son.
At Toby’s school.
Marnie’s smile was even bigger when she raised her glass. “Rot in hell!” she called after Sarah.
To her credit, Toby’s mother never looked back.
But I didn’t smile. Or laugh. My mind scattered, whirring in overdrive, and I scrambled to dig my phone out of my bag, unlock it, and flick through the photos in my camera reel.
There was only one Abigail I knew—Abigail Cooper, Ian’s mum.
Finding the string of photos I needed didn’t take long. I zoomed in, squinted my eyes, and examined every detail.
“No fucking way,” I breathed.
I swiped through photo after photo of Toby and Ian, then froze. Bingo . Christmas, five years ago. I’d caught a candid video of everyone opening gifts. Toby’s father, still striking in his fifties, looked on as my gorgeous husband handed a wrapped box to his best friend.
My heart pounding, I leaned in closer, poring over the details.
At first glance, the three men didn’t look much alike. But when they smiled, I hit pause. There it was. Proof. Matching dimples tucked into their right cheeks.
My hand flew over my mouth in shock.
Toby and Ian weren’t just friends.
They were brothers.