Chapter 251
Their intention was clear–to completely destroy my reputation, to make my life in Manhattan so unbearable that I would have no choice but to leave.
I stared at Scarlett with cold detachment. This woman had the audacity to call herself my mother? The same woman who had left me to die in the mountains when I was just ten years old?
When Scarlett married David, he made it clear he wasn’t interested in raising another man’s child. So what did my loving mother do? She took me deep into the mountains and abandoned me there, hoping wild animals would finish the job.
Her plan was simple yet horrifically cruel.
She would tell everyone: “The child wandered off playing. I don’t know where she went.”
Then, after enough time had passed for wild animals to devour me, she would put on a performance -wandering into the forest, finding some small belonging of mine, and returning to civilization with crocodile tears.
“Oh, my poor child! She wandered off and was eaten by wild animals! How terrible her fate!”
A perfect crime.
No one would blame her. Her conscience would remain unburdened. And she’d face no legal
consequences.
I still remember David’s reaction the night Scarlett returned without me. He was positively jubilant, celebrating by drinking more than usual.
The memory of his laughter while toasting to my “disappearance” still turned my stomach.
Miraculously, I survived. Sam found me nearly dead from hunger and exposure. He saved my life.
When I eventually returned, I was smart enough not to reveal what Scarlett had done–I knew she’d
end up in prison, and despite everything, some foolish part of me still craved a mother’s love.
Now here they were again, armed with supposed custody documents and practiced fake tears,
determined to nail me to the pillar of shame as an “unfilial daughter.”
The crowd around us grew larger. I could see hospital staff pausing to watch the unfolding drama, whispering among themselves
An older woman pushed her way forward, her face pinched with righteous indignation.
“Young lady,” she scolded, “these are your parents! They gave you life and raised you with their sweat
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and tears. How can you treat them this way?” She wagged a finger in my face. One day you it be a parent too. How would you feel if your child treated you like this? Don’t be so heartless!
Another voice joined in: “Such a pretty face hiding such an ugly heart! What’s wrong with your parents asking for a little financial help? You don’t look like you’re hurting for money. This middle- aged man crossed his arms. “Didn’t someone say she’s married? Let’s expose her! When her husband sees what kind of person she really is, he’ll divorce her instantly!”
The crowd’s mumbled agreement swelled around me like a rising tide. “Be kind to your parents,” someone shouted. “Show some filial respect!”
This wasn’t the first time I’d faced this particular ambush. From the moment I spotted them, I’d been preparing my response.
“There’s no need to expose me,” I announced loudly, my voice cutting through the noise. “I’ll tell you exactly who my husband is–Henry Harding! Go ahead, report me to him. Tell him to divorce me
faster!”
The crowd fell instantly silent. Wide eyes stared at me in disbelief.
After what felt like an eternity, a small voice finally broke the silence.
“Holy shit! Her husband is Henry Harding? Then she must be Sophia Wilson! She’s been trying to divorce him for weeks now, but Henry Harding is the one refusing to sign the papers!”
“That’s right!” another voice chimed in. “Sophia Wilson publicly demanded a divorce over a month ago. Henry responded, but he didn’t show any intention of actually wanting to divorce her. You’ve got it all backward!”
A third person snapped their fingers in recognition. “Wait, I remember something! There was an older woman who caused a scene in the hospital a while back, insisting she was Sophia Wilson’s mother and claiming her daughter was unfilial. There was a video online about it.”
The atmosphere shifted dramatically.
People have an instinctive respect for power–just hearing Henry’s name was enough to change the
direction of public opinion.
Sensing the crowd turning against them, David quickly jumped in: “Good people, we are truly her parents! We raised her for years–it wasn’t easy. Asking her for a little money, wanting some repayment for our sacrifices… that’s not wrong, is it?”
Scarlett, panicking as she watched me neutralize their attack with a single sentence, hurriedly added: “Your father is right! We raised you, and now it’s time for you to repay us. Your father is sick and needs money for treatment. Give us the money now!”
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Her goal was simple–get cash and leave.
First extort money from me, then capture it all on video or in photos to blackmail Isabella for more Double the payout for minimal effort.
When I didn’t immediately respond to their demands, Daniel fell to his knees in front of me.
“Sister,” he pleaded, his voice breaking with fake emotion, “please show mercy! Help our father! He’s sick, and we’re so poor we can barely afford food. We have no other options.” He reached for my legs, trying to grab them. “Sister, you can hate me, scold me, even hit me–but you can’t ignore Father’s
illness!”
As he started sobbing dramatically, I felt nothing but disgust.
Unfortunately, the theatrical display worked on the bystanders, who once again turned on me.
“Miss, your father is sick! What’s wrong with asking your husband for a little money to help your family?” one woman called out. “How can your heart be so cold?”
“If I were you, I’d just give them the money,” another advised. “Any problem that can be solved with money is a small problem. Your father is ill–help him get treatment!”
Encouraged by the crowd’s support, David pulled Scarlett down to kneel beside him, both wiping nonexistent tears from their eyes.
I watched the manipulated crowd with pure contempt.
Did they really think kneeling would make me surrender? How naive.
I scanned the gathering, my gaze settling on the most vocal critic. “Which of your eyes saw me refusing to give them money? Look at them carefully–is this how people genuinely seeking financial help behave? If this man were truly sick, he would have brought medical records or test results. Even if I were just giving money to beggars, I’d still offer something. Not custody documents!”
I gestured toward the kneeling trio. “But look at their approach. They didn’t call me. They didn’t discuss their needs with me privately. They didn’t contact my supervisor. Instead, they ambushed me at my workplace to create a scene. This is textbook emotional blackmail!”
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The Ex–Wife’s Redemption: A Love Reborn
