Chapter 305
It was just an apology. One simple apology and we’d be free. My little Billy could sleep in his warm, soft bed instead of curled up on this hard, narrow cot in the police station.
I watched my son sleep, his small face troubled even in dreams. The weight of my stubbornness crushed my chest,
What kind of mother was I, letting my pride force my child to spend the night in a police station?
The female officer who’d been keeping us company noticed my distress. Seeing Billy was asleep, she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone.
“Mrs. Wilson, according to police procedure, you’re allowed to make a call to someone you trust,‘ she explained gently. “You can ask them to visit you or to hire a lawyer on your behalf.”
She glanced toward the door before continuing, her voice dropping even lower. “In your situation, I’d recommend calling someone with influence. Someone powerful enough to outrank the people pressing charges. That would be your best option right now.”
I understood her kindness immediately and replied with genuine gratitude: “Thank you! But you took my cell phone when I arrived.”
The officer pointed across the hall to a small room. “There’s a landline in there. Once you decide who to call, you can use it.” She checked her watch. “There’s a time limit though–five minutes maximum.”
I thanked her again and walked toward the room without hesitation. Alexander had returned to Aspen for New Year’s, and I didn’t want to disrupt his life with my problems. Betty was my only option.
Betty didn’t have many powerful connections in New York, except for her ex–boyfriend Benjamin. After receiving my midnight call, she immediately called him for help.
Benjamin had a terrible habit–he couldn’t tolerate any noise while sleeping. Once awakened, he’d remain sleepless until
dawn.
“What the hell do you want?” he barked into the phone, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.
After Betty explained my situation, he cursed under his breath and gave her Henry’s number instead.
“She’s Henry Harding’s wife! Who in New York has more power than him? Why are you calling me instead of him? I’m not in the habit of rescuing other men’s wives in the middle of the night!”
Betty quickly dialed Henry’s number. She barely finished explaining my situation when he hung up. When she tried calling back, all she got was a dial tone.
Betty stared at her now–dark phone screen, grabbed her coat and rushed to the police station. Unortunately, her efforts were futile–they wouldn’t even let her/see me.
I didn’t sleep a wink all night. As dawn broke, I sat watching Billy toss and turn on the narrow bed, my eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. Looking at my son’s uncomfortable sleep, all my defiance had drained away, replaced by regret and
heartache.
Why had I been so stubborn about refusing to apologize?
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Chapter 305
This world was never fair–the weak always had to bow to the strong. That was just reality.
Just as I’d resolved to swallow my pride and apologize, the door swung open from outside.
“Sophia Wilson, come out! a voice commanded. “Someone wants to see you!”
The female officer, worried about waking Billy, quickly motioned for me to follow her, promising to watch over my sleeping
son.
I had barely taken a seat in the interview room when I found myself face–to–face with the wealthy woman from yesterday, the one I’d fought with. Her face radiated smug satisfaction.
“Well? Have you reconsidered? Ready to apologize?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension.
I clenched my fists tightly. It went against everything in me to apologize when I’d done nothing wrong. But for Billy’s sake, I couldn’t watch my child suffer.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” I forced myself to say, the words burning my throat. My nails dug deep into my palms, using physical pain to numb the emotional humiliation.
“Too late!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “A simple apology isn’t enough anymore. You’ll pay my son $1 million in compensation, make a public apology through the media, and write a formal letter of remorse!”
Her demands were even more outrageous than yesterday’s. After laying out her conditions, she gave me a contemptuous
once–over.
“Don’t think I don’t know who you are–you’re Henry Harding’s discarded wife,” she sneered. “You’re nothing but damaged goods he doesn’t want anymore.”
She leaned closer, her expensive perfume suffocating me. “You’re just a pathetic divorcée who can’t even keep her husband. Henry won’t lift a finger to help you!”
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