The image of the beaming bride made Constance’s blood boil. ‘A child for a child, Monique. I will avenge my daughter and I will not rest until you feel the pain I have felt for the last 12 years.’
Her eyes transversed through the display of photos on the table. She reached for the family picture of three. It was taken sometime last year at the lake during summer. She gently traced her fingers over the smiling face of Sahara.
So innocent, so full of pure joy and hope for the future – just as Harriet had been before that fateful night. Before Monique’s selfishness had stolen it all away.
“Soon enough, Monique , you’ll know what it feels like to have your child unjustly taken away from you,” Constance murmured darkly.
Her pledge for vengeance was the only thing keeping her going after over a decade of grief and emptiness.
❦❦❦
At the office across town, Clinton walked out of his board meeting and stopped in his tracks upon entering his office. The room seemed to have been transformed into a florist’s shop in the few hours he was sequestered away. Congratulatory bouquets, baskets of flowers and balloons crowded every available surface.
“What’s going on here?” he asked his assistant in bewilderment as he rushed in behind him.
The assistant turned to the small crowd of secretaries hard at work at their desks just outside Clinton’s office door. Before he could address them, the head secretary hurried in cradling yet another lavish floral arrangement.
“Sir, this just came from the VJ Group CEO with his congratulations,” she informed him with an air of excitement.
Growing realization dawned on Clinton’s face as he reached out to pluck the small envelope from the bouquet. He didn’t need to be a genius to guess what was going on here. When his mother set her mind on something, there was no turning back or subtle hints.
“You can all leave now. I’ll handle this myself,” he dismissed the secretaries with a tight smile and wave of his hand.
As they scurried off, Clinton collapsed into his plush desk chair with an exhausted sigh. He snatched up his phone and punched in a too-familiar number, dread sinking in his gut.
“Mother, what the hell did you do this time?” Clinton demanded angrily when Constance picked up the phone, barely containing his fury.
“Did I not make myself clear enough this morning?” Constance replied dismissively.
“Mom, this is not the right time for Lydia and me to get married,” Clinton shot back, exasperated.
Constance let out a sarcastic laugh. “Not the right time? No, there’s no better time than now.”
“Mom, you can’t just force this on us out of nowhere!” he protested.
“There’s nothing you can do about it. The guests have already been informed and preparations are made,” Constance stated matter-of-factly.
Clinton felt his anger spike. “Do you really not care at all about your granddaughter being in the hospital, in a coma?”
There was a beat of tense silence before Constance’s cold response. “That bastard has nothing to do with you.”
Slamming his palm on the desk, Clinton shouted, “Mom!”
“Did I say anything wrong?” Constance asked coolly.
Defeated and heartbroken by her callousness, Clinton slumped back in his chair. “Why are you being like this? So vengeful and cruel?”
“The wedding is at 8:00 hours tomorrow. Be there.”
With that final brutal pronouncement, she hung up, leaving Clinton feeling utterly helpless. His mother’s obsessive need for vengeance and control knew no bounds, even overriding basic human decency.
As much as he wanted to call off this sham wedding, he knew Constance too well. She would steamroll ahead no matter what, heedless of anyone’s objections or emotional wellbeing.
Holding his head in his hands, Clinton could only try to fortify himself for the turmoil yet to come as a result of his mother’s spiteful scheming. He feared this was just the beginning of her escalating mania.
Clinton rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of his mother’s irrational and vindictive behavior towards Monique.
His conversation with Lydia earlier that day came flooding back.
Her words echoed loudly in Clinton’s mind now in the wake of Constance’s unreasonable demands. As much as he loved his mother, he could no longer deny that her behavior was becoming increasingly unbalanced and destructive, driven by an all-consuming obsession with Monique.
Perhaps Lydia was right – it was time to dig deeper into what dark history fueled this bitter feud. Understanding the full truth may be the only way to confront Constance and somehow break her grip on this cruel path of vengeance.
❦❦❦
At the hospital, Monique stood solemnly outside the ICU watching over her comatose daughter through the glass window. The rise and fall of the ventilator keeping her child alive was the only sound in the stark, sterile room.
Daniel joined her silently in the hallway, clasping his hands behind his back as he too looked in on the heartbreaking scene. They stood like that for several long minutes, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between them.
Finally, Monique spoke up without turning to face him. “Seems you have something to say?”
Daniel sighed deeply. “Clinton and Lydia…they’re getting married tomorrow.”
Monique’s brow furrowed in puzzlement as she finally glanced over at him. “What? How do you know that?”
“It’s been publicly announced,” Daniel explained grimly. “Ms. Constance arranged the whole thing herself on very short notice.”
Understanding dawned across Monique’s features. “I see…” She returned her gaze to her daughter’s motionless form. “That vengeful woman stops at nothing.”
Daniel studied her impassive profile carefully. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it? Try to stop the wedding at least?”
Monique simply shook her head. “Let them do whatever they want. All I care about at this moment is willing my daughter to wake up from this coma.” Her voice caught with restrained emotion.
Daniel nodded slowly, respecting her choice to prioritize her child’s life over petty feuds and drama, as justified as her outrage may be. Though he felt anger simmering on Monique’s behalf at Clinton’s blatant disregard for her feelings and their situation.
Reaching out, he gave Monique’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “I’m here for you both. However you need me.”
She managed the faintest of smiles, covering his hand briefly with her own in wordless thanks. For now, the rest of the world could wait. Monique’s universe had contracted to this tiny hospital room where her daughter clung to life. Everything else was white noise.
❦❦❦
INKED IMAGINATION
