<b>Chapter </b>17
Samuel believed he had figured out Veronica’s intentions. He huffed and turned his back to her in protest.
“Mom, Dad’s never going to love you the way he loves Ms. Turner. You should give it up.”
He paused, then added with a softer voice, “Even if you go back to being the way you used to be, I won’tin about you nagging anymore. But you still owe me an apology. You were mean to me earlier.”
He rambled on for a while, waiting for an apology that never came.
When he finally turned around, he saw that Veronica was already inside the car, waiting by the curb. It had
driven off down the road.
Samuel’s face flushed red with frustration.
He screamed toward the car, as if releasing all the frustration building up in him. “Mom, I’m not going to
let you get your way!”
He stormed back into the hospital room, feeling defeated.
Miriam looked up in confusion. “I thought you said you were getting the soup Mom made, Samuel? Ms.
Turner’s still waiting to drink it. Don’t tell me you came back empty–handed?”
“Of course not! I’ll get it. Just wait!” Samuel snapped.
But that night, Samuel suddenly came down with a high fever.
Even in his sleep, he kept mumbling, “Mom… Mom, the soup…”
Heath sat beside the bed, looking utterly exhausted.
Walter walked in quietly and lowered his voice. “Mr. Tate, I still can’t reach Mrs. Tate.”
If he remembered correctly, this was the second time. By now, even he had started to wonder what was
going on with Veronica.
Heath’s gaze darkened, and a hint of rare anger shed across his face. “She’s really going to hold a
grudge like this? She’d rather ignore her sick child just to make a point?”
He scoffed, “Ipletely misjudged you, Veronica.”
Meanwhile, in Veronica’s apartment, she had just downloaded the client brief Courtney sent her. Once she confirmed the client’s red gs, she finally let herself breathe and startedying out her design drafts.
She had a habit when designing–she would be totally disconnected from the outside world.
<b>Years </b>ago, the first piece <b>that </b>won her a national award waspleted after she locked herself in a studio for seven straight days. She hadn’t even stepped outside once.
Any outside interference threw off her rhythm.
Sometimes, inspiration was fleeting. If she didn’t seize it, it might not return.
To keep herself from slipping, Veronica switched her phone to airne mode.
She didn’t want to be checking the time only to be blindsided by gossip headlines about Eleanor and Heath. She may have let go of him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t angry.
Veronica buried herself in the project for three straight days. Even in her dreams, she continued to visualize tiny adjustments to the clothes–tweaks in fabric, stitching, and proportions.
On the third morning, shepleted the pants design, finishing the color scheme and logo cement at the hemline in one sitting.
As soon as she sent off all the finalized drafts, Courtney’s emailnded in her inbox almost instantly.
Courtney said, “Veronica, you are a genius! Absolutely incredible!”
Courtney’s enthusiastic praise finally settled Veronica’s nerves.
This “spiritual reawakening” concept wasn’t just another collection–it was her ticket back into the design
world. She was going to use that ticket to kick down every hurdle in her way.
From here on, she would continue to push the boundaries of neo–Cinderone style and shape it into
something bolder, sharper, and unmistakably her own.
Veronica smoothed out the extra sketches on her desk. Her path had never felt clearer.
After submitting her final drafts, Veronica finally let herself crash. She slept harder than she had in weeks.
By the time she remembered to switch her phone off airne mode, the screen lit up with a flood of
missed calls.
Heath, Walter, Eleanor, Miriam, as well as people from the Tate residence, had tried to teach her.
Veronica frowned, and an uneasy feeling sank into her chest.
Among the flood of notifications, one WhatsApp message from Heath caught her eye.
“Samuel’s running a high fever. Come to the hospital.”
<b>It </b>was sent three days ago, at 3:00 am.
Veronica froze, her fingers tightening around the phone. How did Samuel get a fever?
Samuel had seemed perfectly fine when she saw him that afternoon<b>. </b>He was even defiant and sharp- tongued, telling her he would choose Heath without hesitation.
Veronica’s eyes dimmed<b>, </b>her expression hollowing as a wave of heaviness settled <b>over </b>her.
Back then<b>, </b>whenever Samuel or Miriam <b>felt </b>even the slightest difort, Veronica would stay by <b>their </b>
side night and day. She never even bothered to change out of her clothes, just so she could be there the moment they needed her. She wouldn’t leave their bedside, not even for a moment.
But they didn’t remember that. All they remembered was her nagging.
They said she wasn’t a doctor and that hovering by the bed wouldn’t cure anything.
A bitter smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She wiped at the corner of her eye, brushing away a
sudden sting of heat.
So what if she went now? What difference would it make?
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