Chapter 64

Emily Johnson stood coldly in the yard, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. She could hear Sophia Green and Olivia Brown talking inside the house but didn’t even bother to glance their way.

"Maybe... you should go smooth things over?" Olivia whispered.

"Why should I?" Sophia slammed her enamel cup down with a loud clang. "What does Emily Johnson have besides her pretty face that’s worth my effort?"

Outside the courtyard wall, Emily’s lips curled into a cold smile. She turned and walked to the kitchen, efficiently starting dinner preparations. The sharp clatter of the spatula against the pan sounded almost deliberate, as if she were venting something.

"Mom..." David stood timidly at the doorway.

Emily paused, the frost in her expression instantly melting. "Take your brother to play for a while. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready."

At dinner, the two boys ate eagerly, their mouths shiny with oil. The tender shrimp balls burst with savory juices in their mouths, but they obediently didn’t ask why the "sweet potato cakes" tasted especially good today.

Meanwhile, at the Stone family’s old house, Mary Stone sighed as she stared at the empty bed. The mess with the Wilson family wasn’t resolved yet, and she couldn’t bring herself to stay at her youngest son’s place again.

The train rattled through the night.

Michael Stone closed his eyes, feigning sleep, when a sharp cry jolted him awake.

"Help! I don’t know him!"

At the other end of the carriage, a girl with braided hair clung desperately to her seat, one side of her face swollen. A rough-faced man yanked her arm, spewing obscenities.

"My wife’s trying to run away! Mind your own business!"

The passengers around them exchanged uneasy glances, some already withdrawing their hands from offering help.

Michael’s expression darkened. The scene inexplicably reminded him of Emily’s cold back as he left.

"Charles," he said hoarsely, "get the conductor."

Charles Clark hesitated for a second before rushing toward the other end of the carriage.

"Is she really your wife?" Michael spoke up, his voice quiet but cutting through the tension in the carriage.

The man’s eyes darted nervously. "O-of course! Our kid’s old enough to run errands!"

The girl, pinned to her seat, suddenly lifted her head, tears brimming with desperation. "Please help me, sir! I was kidnapped!"

Michael’s fingers absently traced the edge of his ticket. Three days ago, he’d demanded the same from Emily—whether she planned to abandon him and their sons to return to the city. What had her expression been then?

"The conductor’s here!" Charles pushed through the crowd with two uniformed men.

The man’s face twisted in panic. He let go of the girl and tried to bolt. Michael stretched out his leg—thud—sending the man sprawling face-first onto the floor.

"Sort this out," Michael said to the conductors with a nod. When he sat back down, he realized his palms were damp with sweat.

Samuel Bright leaned in and whispered, "Michael, about Emily—"

"Shut it." Michael turned to the pitch-black window. His reflection showed the tense line of his jaw.

The train whistle pierced the night, sounding eerily like something inside him cracking apart.