Chapter XVIIII: Root cause

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Clinton stared at his mother, momentarily stunned by her venomous outburst.

A crimson stain bloomed on Lydia’s calf where a shard of porcelain had pierced her skin. The servants, their faces etched with concern, scurried around her, their frantic whispers a stark contrast to the chilling silence that had descended upon the room.

”Mother, what is wrong with you?” Clinton’s voice shook with a mixture of anger and exasperation. “Sahara is lying unconscious, fighting for her life. How can you carry on with such vitriol at a time like this? Over what – some ancient grudge against Monique?”

She glared at him, her eyes filled with contempt.

“Mom, your actions are not making sense,” Clinton pleaded. “Whatever altercation you had with Monique happened years ago. You’ve lived in relative harmony all this time. Why dredge up that ugly past now? Especially at a time like this when Sahara needs us unified?”

Lydia, her voice laced with concern despite the throbbing pain in her leg, spoke up gently. “Mom, I can see you are hurting deeply. But can’t we put whatever grudges you hold against Monique aside for now? Sahara is blameless in all this.”

Constance’s voice trembled with a potent mixture of anger and anguish. “Blameless? Blameless, you say?” she shrieked, her gaze turning into a laser focused on Lydia. “So was Harriet!”

Clinton frowned, exchanging a bewildered look with Lydia. “Mom, who is Harriet?”

The question seemed to snap Constance out of a trance. She clamped her mouth shut, her lips a trembling line, the only outward sign of the emotional turmoil raging within her. Rage, sadness, bitterness – all coalesced into a toxic storm brewing in her eyes.

She raised a shaky finger, pointing it towards Clinton and Lydia in accusation. “Don’t either of you dare try to trivialize my pain. It’s mine! My anguish, my torment to shoulder. Only after you’ve experienced what I’ve endured will you understand.” Her voice grew louder, more impassioned. “Even if Monique died and spent ten lifetimes atoning, it will never be enough to absolve her sins!”

With that, Constance turned on her heel and stormed away, leaving Clinton and Lydia stunned in her wake.

Clinton ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the urge to yell after his mother a physical ache in his throat.

“What in the world was that about?” he muttered, anger and bewilderment twisting his voice.

Lydia placed a calming hand on his arm. “Clearly there are deeply rooted wounds being reopened. Ones your mother has kept closest to her heart all these years. Who is this Harriet she spoke of? And what did Monique possibly do that could justify this…this unhinged reaction?”

Clinton’s brow furrowed as he struggled to understand. “It’s been years since everything happened ? I thought we were past that.” He shook his head slowly.

“Perhaps there are some betrayals that cut too deep to overcome,” Lydia said sadly. “Some hurts time alone cannot heal. Whatever transpired clearly did unmentionable damage to your mother’s heart and soul.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

Her behavior baffled him and left him frustrated.

Letting out a weary sigh, Clinton pulled Lydia close, drawing what comfort he could from her embrace.

“I can’t pretend to understand what demons she’s battling,” he murmured into Lydia’s hair. The scent of her Jasmine shampoo grounding him. “But right now, Sahara needs me.”

“I know.” Lydia winced as she put some weight on her injured leg. “Do you think Monique will allow us to see her?”

Clinton sighed, the memory of Monique’s anger the night before a fresh wound. “I… I don’t know,

Clinton scooped Lydia into his arms, her wince a fresh pang of guilt in his gut. He carried her bridal style to their bedroom, depositing her gently on the chaise lounge; his movements careful not to exacerbate her injury. The concerned servant hovered nearby, first-aid kit clutched in their hand.

”Are you alright?” Clinton asked, his voice laced with worry as he examined the shallow cut on her leg. A grimace flickered across his face as he looked at the dried blood staining her pale skin.

Lydia forced a smile.

”It’s nothing serious,” Lydia mumbled, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clinton apologized, his brow furrowed in guilt.

”Never mind,” Lydia said dismissively. She watched intently as he began cleaning the wound with a gentle touch, her fingers drawn to the short, curly strands of his chestnut brown hair.” Accidents happen.”

Clinton met her gaze, his blue eyes clouded with a mixture of emotions. He loved her gentle and obedient nature. However, there were times he wished she could let out her frustrations. There was no doubt his mother had gone too far with her actions.

”Honey,” she began hesitantly.

“Mmm?” Clinton hummed, his focus on cleaning the wound.

“What exactly happened between your mom and Monique?”

A weary sigh escaped Clinton’s lips as he finished cleaning the wound. He put away the cotton wool and reached for the adhesive bandage, his movements thoughtful.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “before Monique and I met, their paths had already crossed.”

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

Clinton nodded curtly. “I was in college then. Back then, Mom and I used to do odd jobs to get by. One of those jobs led her to waitressing at one of the Shetty’s parties. It was Monique’s twentieth birthday party, actually.”

He paused, a shadow flickering across his eyes. “Her family had gifted her these expensive diamond earrings. Somehow, during the party, Monique lost one of them. The investigation… well, it pointed at Mom as the culprit.”

Disbelief colored Lydia’s features. “No, that’s… that’s absurd. Your mom wouldn’t…”

“I know,” Clinton said, a wry smile twisting his lips followed by a humorless chuckle . “It was an absurd accusation. Mom protested her innocence, of course. But her fingerprints and Monique’s were the only ones found on the earring.”

“But why wouldn’t anyone believe her?” Lydia pressed, a knot of unease forming in her stomach.

”Valuable jewelry at a party of the rich and powerful goes missing,” Clinton explained, his voice tight with a mixture of repressed anger and a hint of shame. “Of course, the staff would be the first suspects. Monique was young, wilful, and determined to make an example of mom. Mom ended up taking the fall. Her two-month jail stint wasn’t easy. It changed her.”

“Two months?” Lydia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“It wasn’t until later that the real culprit was caught,” Clinton continued, his jaw clenching.

“Who was it?”

“Their butler’s son,” he revealed, his voice grim. “He was an obsessive gambler. Apparently, he was a manager for one of the Shetty’s jewelry stores. Turns out, he’d been swapping real diamonds for synthetic ones. The whole scheme unraveled when a client tried to insure their jewelry, and the discrepancies came to light. He must have planned to swap Monique’s earrings too, but dropped one in his haste. Mom just picked it up, unknowingly placing her fingerprints on it.”

“So, before she could even report it,” Lydia pieced together, “chaos had already erupted?”

“Something like that,” Clinton muttered, his gaze hardening. “Anyway, Mom was released after serving her time. I’m sure they both thought they’d never see each other again. It wasn’t until the day I introduced Mom to Monique that I learned the whole story.”

“Wow,” Lydia breathed, her eyes wide with newfound understanding.

“I thought Mom was over it all,” Clinton said, shaking his head. ” When I found out about what had transpired between them in the past and how cruel Monique had been to mom, I wanted to break up her. But mom gave me a stern talk down. Over the years, she had been out biggest support system.”

Unearthing the truth about Monique’s past cruelty towards his mother had shaken him to his core. The initial urge to break things off had been strong, fueled by a protective rage.

Lydia ran a thoughtful hand through his hair. “Maybe she put aside her hurt and pain for you, after seeing how happy were with Monique. A mother would do anything for her child’s happiness.”

Clinton fell silent, contemplating her words. “If she didn’t want me to be with Monique,” he finally said, his voice low, “she could have just said so. But hiring a fake minister to officiate our wedding… that shows she never got over it. She just pretended everything was okay.”

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