Chapter 37

Olivia

The disdainful gaze and harsh comments of Nathan’s father, Colin, had always made me want to avoid him at all costs. But Nathan’s mother, Maria, was a different story.

She never seemed to particularly go out of her way to be cruel toward me like Colin did, but I also knew that she never really liked me. She exuded rigidity and coldness, and left a lasting impression on me when I was a kid that still weighed heavily on my mind.

Her imminent visit sent a shiver down my spine, but it seemed as though I had no choice now but to get dressed and wait for her.

Sighing, I crumpled up Nathan’s handwritten note and tossed it in the wastebasket. I wanted to look presentable for Maria, so I showered quickly, then put on a nice, modest dress and pulled my hair back neatly.

Just as I was finishing getting ready, I felt myself jump as I suddenly heard the sound of Maria’s fist rapping on the front door impatiently.

I practically ran down the steps and flung the door open, having reached the door in record time.

And yet somehow, it still didn’t seem good enough.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ford,” I said with a polite smile as I held the door open for her. “Thank you for coming by.”

“Hm.” Maria marched into the foyer with her chin held high and looked around at the surroundings with an unimpressed expression on her thin face before she turned on her heel to face me.

“You took your sweet time coming down here to let me in.”

I felt my eyes widen and my face turn red at Maria’s blunt words. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, she brushed past me and into the kitchen.

“W-Would you like some tea?” I asked, sheepishly following the tall, slender woman.

Maria shook her head dismissively before she set her bag down on the counter and glanced up at me. “Stand up straight,” she said curtly.

I instinctively pushed my shoulders back and forced a weak smile, although I was certain that my face was beet red.

“Sit down,” she commanded next. She seemed to be entirely fixed on a particular purpose that did not involve any sort of pleasantries.

Like a dog who was just given an order, I immediately plopped down at the kitchen table and looked up at Maria with wide eyes. While butterflies danced in my stomach, I watched as she produced a covered pot from her bag, set it on the stove, and then clicked on the burner.

Within a few minutes, the kitchen smelled of aromatic spices. Shortly after that, a steaming bowl of soup was placed in front of me.

“Eat up,” Maria said, scurrying back over to the stove to continue stirring the remaining soup in the pot. “And eat it all.”

“T-Thank you,” I said sheepishly. I picked up the metal spoon and scooped out a spoonful of the soup. As I did so, the pungent smell of the medicinal spices assaulted my nostrils and almost instantly triggered my morning sickness, which, until now, had been nonexistent.

I had to restrain myself from gagging as I forced the spoonful of soup into my mouth beneath Maria’s watchful gaze.

“Mm,” I lied, pretending to enjoy the soup despite the fact that it tasted like grass and seawater. “What’s in this?”

Maria shrugged. “Medicinal herbs,” she said, and nothing more.

There was a long silence, filled only by the sound of my spoon clinking on the bowl. I forced myself to eat several more spoonfuls of the stuff, but the smell was so strong that I was certain I would retch, and finally I had to push the bowl away.

“Finished already?” Maria asked, sounding annoyed. “You’ve hardly touched it.”

“It really is delicious,” I lied again, “but I’m afraid my morning sickness—”

“Nonsense.” Maria stormed over to me and pulled a chair up beside me, letting the legs scrape loudly on the floor. She then sat down, picked up the bowl, and then held a spoonful out for me.

I opened my mouth to say something, but she just used it as an opportunity to shove the spoon into my mouth. A bit of the hot, pungent broth dribbled down my chin.

I winced as I chewed and swallowed the chunky soup, trying my hardest not to gag.

“T-Thanks,” I said. “I can feed myself.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin while she annoyedly set the bowl back down and brought her chair around to the other side of the table.

“So,” Maria said while I tried to mask my discomfort and eat the wretched soup at the same time, “tell me how it happened.”

I almost coughed on a particularly strong spice. “How what happened?” I asked.

“How you managed to lock down my son when he was in a perfectly good relationship.”

Suddenly, I felt my face turn a deep scarlet red. “I… I…” I stammered, unable to come up with a response.

But it didn’t seem to matter, because before I could even answer, Maria kept pushing.

“I mean, Layla is beautiful, intelligent, kind, caring, and from a good family,” Maria continued, staring almost dreamily up at the ceiling as she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

“S-She is,” I agreed, using the opportunity to not eat another spoonful of soup while Maria wasn’t looking.

“And you…” She looked back down at me, and her eyes flickered over me as though she was appraising me. “Well… You are your father’s daughter. I suppose that’s all I need to say.”

I almost felt as though my throat was going to close up, although whether it was from the horrible soup or from Maria’s nasty words, I couldn’t quite tell.

Just then, Maria chuckled and stood. “Finish your soup.”

I nodded slowly and forcefully shoved another spoonful in my mouth. At this point, I didn’t even care if she insulted me; I shoved another spoonful in, then another, thinking that if I at least finished it more quickly, it would be over and she would go home.

Finally, I somehow managed to force the last spoonful of soup into my mouth.

As I did, the spices overwhelmed me completely and permeated through my cells. Everything smelt of those spices now. I couldn’t smell anything else.

Suddenly, I felt vomit bubbling up in my throat.

“E-Excuse me,” I said, abruptly pushing my chair back and standing. “I need to use the restroom.”

Before Maria could say anything, I practically flew out of the room and down the hall to the guest bathroom. The door had hardly closed behind me before I was on my knees in front of the toilet, retching up every bit of the soup that I had just eaten.

When I was finished, I watched in agony and clutched my stomach while the discolored soup swirled down the toilet drain. I sat on the floor for a few moments, leaning my head back on the cool tile wall.

My body felt weak now, and all I wanted to do was go up to my room and go back to bed for the rest of the day.

But when I got up and walked back into the hall, she was standing outside the door with another bowl of soup in her hands.