Chapter 32 : Moajaza

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【 32.

Thirty-two

Moajaza 】

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[ Moajaza • miracle ]

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      ROSALINE STARES HARD at her mother. “Who is here?”

Isabelle Davenport presses her lips into a thin, hard line. Obviously, she isn’t too thrilled about the person who just arrived at the Davenport home either.

Rosaline releases a disbelieving laugh. “I forgot the woman even existed,” she mutters, the trace of her sarcastic delight evident in her voice. “Damn.”

“She’s your mother in law, Rose,” Isabelle sighs, looking tired right then. “She was bound to come by.”

“I know.” Rose huffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she remains seated on the edge of the bed in her parents’ guest bedroom. “The last time I spoke to her was when I was just leaving for the lake house. She knew all about the surprise I was planning for—” she swallows, “—for Micah.”

Rosaline hates herself for that tiny break in her voice.

“Mm,” is all the response Rosaline’s mother has to that. She’s never been too fond of Micah’s mum, though Rosaline can never be entirely certain what the reason is.

“Why didn’t she accompany you and dad to Springfield?”

Isabelle’s eyes flicker to Rosaline’s. “We were there before the cops came to deliver the news, remember? We flew when Garry called to let us know you were about to be taken into surgery. We didn’t know that once we were at the hospital, we’d be asked to come to the morgue and identify our son in law’s body.”

Rosaline grimaces at the blunt words coming out her mother’s mouth. At least, she knows where she herself gets that trait from.

“Anyway,” Isabelle sighs loudly, “She was contacted either by the cops or your father, I don’t know. Point is, she was herself in mourning while you stayed behind at the hotel, and now that you’re here, she wants to share her sorrows.”

Rosaline shoots her mother an incredulous look. “Some grace, please. I mean, it’s okay when I react that way, but watching you behave so brutally is—it’s very discomforting.”

“Rose, it’s no surprise that I wasn’t a huge fan of Micah,” her mother tells her patiently, like she’s treating a kid. “And I’m not going to start pretending otherwise just because he died.”

“We’re not speaking about him, we’re speaking about his mother.”

“I’ve never been a fan of hers either. And if I can’t show courtesy to a dead person, what on earth makes you think I’ll show some to a very alive one?”

Rosaline’s lips twitch against her will but she suppresses the smile before it can even start to form on her face. Her mother’s no-bullshit, no-sugarcoating attitude always manages to catch her by surprise, in a very refreshing way—but Rosaline still holds a grudge. A very deep and painful one. And she doesn’t want to exchange a smile with the woman responsible for that grudge.

“I have to go,” Rosaline says quietly, shifting her eyes to the ground and rising to her feet. It’s scary how easy it is to hold a normal conversation with her mother. Especially when all she wants to do while others try to communicate with her is break and shatter things.

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