The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 13
Victoria sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her phone so tightly it had grown warm in her hand. The screen had gone dark long
ago, but she just stared at it, lost in thought.
Over the years, she'd done everything to care for her daughter-worried if she was too cold, too hot, hungry, or bored. From the
moment Gwyneth was born, Victoria had wanted nothing but the best for her. She knitted tiny sweaters and hats, imagining what
her little girl would look like as she grew up, spoiling her like a princess. If she could have plucked the stars from the sky for
Gwyneth, she would have.
The only place she ever drew a hard line was with Gwyneth's diet. Born with anemia and allergic to eggs and shellfish, Gwyneth
also had a sweet tooth. Victoria kept a close watch, never letting her have too much sugar-afraid she'd get overweight or end up
with cavities.
She managed Gwyneth's studies with the same vigilance, making sure she practiced her violin and kept up with her art. In many
ways, Victoria realized, she was just as strict as her own mother had been with her a socialite who'd demanded nothing less than
perfection.
But somehow, she'd failed to notice that Gwyneth didn't like it. In just a few weeks after meeting Violet, Gwyneth had been utterly
charmed. Violet didn't nag her about homework or fuss over what she ate. In half a month, Gwyneth put on nearly ten pounds.
Once, she'd even eaten eggs at Violet's house-more than one-and by the time she got home, she'd gone into shock, scaring
Victoria half to death.
By the time Victoria tried to bring her daughter back, it was already too late. Gwyneth's heart, like McNeil's, was firmly in Violet's
hands. They both resented Victoria. Everything she'd done-every sacrifice-was nothing but self- consolation in the eyes of her
husband and daughter.
The phone screen lit up again, its wallpaper no longer the family portrait it once was, but now a photo of Victoria with her own
mother.
Edith Turner had been the daughter of a prominent Starfall City family—gentle, gracious, never one to stir trouble. But she'd
married Victoria's father, a man as cold and distant as McNeil. Victoria remembered her mother's kindness, but also the look of
utter despair in her eyes on her deathbed.
She'd said, "Victoria, playing the devoted wife and mother leads nowhere good. Just look at me."

Still, Victoria had always admired her mother's quiet strength. She'd supported her ambitious husband as he climbed the social
ladder, only for him to keep a mistress and break her spirit. Even as a child, Victoria never wavered-no matter how strict her
mother was, or how her father's lover tried to win her over, she never gave in.
Not like Gwyneth. Gwyneth had abandoned her without a second thought.
Victoria's eyes welled with tears before she even realized it, her thoughts full of her daughter.
"Victoria, can we talk-?"
A voice at the door jolted her from her misery. McNeil leaned in the doorway, suit jacket draped over his arm, an unlit cigarette
between his fingers. He almost never smoked at home, but tonight, he was on edge.
Victoria glanced at him, said nothing, and switched off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. When she spoke, her
voice was distant and cold, almost otherworldly.
"McNeil, don't waste your time. Go comfort your lover. Don't come in here just to
She paused, then forced out the last three words: "-disturb me."
But McNeil didn't leave. Instead, he stepped further into the room.
Victoria pulled the covers over her head, cocooning herself completely.
The mattress dipped as McNeil sat beside her.
"Victoria, let's not get divorced."
Even hidden under the blanket, she could hear the rough edge in his voice-a plea, almost.
For a moment, she wondered if she'd imagined it.