Throughout the entire process, she didn't shed a single tear. Someone had told her a long time ago that crying didn't solve a damn thing.
...
Hulda packed until the early hours of the morning. By the time she woke up, daylight was pouring into the room.
Normally, she would be up at the crack of dawn, personally preparing a hearty, nutritious breakfast for her husband and son.
But neither of them had come home last night.
Thinking of Miles—the only person in the world who shared her blood—her heart contracted with a sharp, stinging pain.
She couldn't burn the image of yesterday out of her mind. He had guarded Sylvie like a vicious little wolf pup, shoving his own mother away with every ounce of strength he had. In that moment, the invisible bond between mother and child had violently snapped. To him, she wasn't his mother. She was just the villain making his precious Sylvie cry.
Down in the kitchen, the housekeeper, Callie, was bustling around the stove, completely oblivious to her presence.
"Callie, what are you making?" Hulda asked, eyeing the elaborate spread.
Since Hulda usually handled breakfast, the housekeeper was rarely in the kitchen at this hour.
Startled by her voice, Callie fumbled and dropped her spatula. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter.
"M-Mrs. Jewell... you're home. I thought you were gone," she stammered, looking awkwardly guilty.
"I got in late last night. You were already asleep." Hulda didn't pay much attention to the woman's nervous demeanor and walked straight up to the counter. She saw a meticulously slow-simmered restorative chicken soup alongside a highly nutritious, multi-course meal.
When Hulda first got married, she didn't know how to boil water. Desperate to integrate into the household, she had paid top dollar to hire a premium professional like Callie.
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