Faux Vows, True Desires novel Chapter 490

Being the child of divorce is something most people dread, and Janice knew it all too well.

The fear that her two kids might be swayed by Nathan, their father, to act as his lobbyists, pleading with her to reconsider the divorce, weighed heavily on her.

“Mom, we'd never do that. Neither would my brother,” Lucinda reassured her.

They were coming to terms with the kind of man their father was, but their hearts ached for the years of suffering their mother had endured. They wouldn't side with him, nor would they pressure her.

This was their parents' tangled mess of love and pain, and it was theirs alone to sort out.

If their father ever earned their mother's forgiveness, they'd be overjoyed. But if divorce was the final chapter, they'd stand by their parents' decisions and choices.

A weight lifted slightly from Janice's shoulders.

After a moment of silence, she asked, “Lucy, how's your dad doing?”

Almost as if to avoid any misunderstanding, she quickly added, “I'm not concerned about him. I'm just worried he'll catch a cold and then I'll be expected to look after him. That would drive me up the wall.”

“Don't worry, Mom. My brother and Stefan will convince Dad to go inside and change. It's still warm out. Even if he's soaked to the bone, with Dad's constitution, he won't catch a cold.”

“He's been shot before, nearly died. His health isn't as solid as you all think,” Janice said absentmindedly.

After saying it, she paused, lost in thought.

Why did she remember Nathan's gunshot wound?

When had that happened?

It must have been when she had first lost her mind or during those long years of madness. The timeline was hazy.

She only remembered him throwing himself on top of her, and then the gunshot. Blood everywhere, her hands red with it, the memory so harrowing it stuck with her even through her madness.

And now, it slipped out so naturally.

“My dad's been shot?” Lucinda was shocked.

Her father had always been an oak, a rock-solid presence, impervious to the storm. With all the skilled bodyguards around him, the notion of him getting hurt seemed impossible.

But he'd been shot.

She recalled her brother mentioning their cars were bulletproof.

As the patriarch of the Blue family, her dad's car would undoubtedly be fortified too.

“He was shot, yes. I don't remember how it happened. All I remember is your dad falling on top of me, and then the gunshot.”

Recalling that terrifying moment made Janice's face turn white.

Lucinda realized then it wasn't a random attack. Her dad had taken a bullet for her mom.

“After he was shot, your grandmother cursed me as a jinx, saying I brought bad luck to my husband. She hit me, several times. I was terrified, of her, and that your dad might die. He bled so much...it stained my hands red...” Janice couldn't go on. She was gripped by fear.

“That old hag went too far. Mom, what happened after that? Did Dad start to neglect you?”

Janice shook her head, “I don't remember, Lucy... I can't remember...”

Suddenly, she clutched her head, feeling an immense pain.

The accusations, the blame, the title of a madwoman—all of it rushed back, overwhelming her, making her head pound and her face grow paler by the second.

“Mom, mom, what's wrong? If you can't remember, don't force it, mom, please stop.”

Lucinda knew her mother only retained fragments of the past, not the entire tragic tapestry.

Seeing her mother in such agony, she wrapped her arms around her.

“Lucy, Lucy's crying. I heard her. She's up ahead. Let me go. I need to find my daughter, my Lucy!”

She struggled against the firm grip until she could run again.

“Janice, Janice.” Discarding the umbrella, the figure chased after her, catching up and stepping in front of her. He lunged, and they collided. She heard a loud 'thump,' and they fell to the ground, his body covering hers, arms holding her tightly.

She shoved him, he didn't move, as if lifeless, and she pushed him aside.

And then, she saw the blood mingling with the rain behind him.

Terrified and instinctively, she tried to help him up, her hands covered in blood, the rain washing it away.

She tried to stop the bleeding, but it seeped through her fingers, dripping to the ground and carried away by the rainwater.

“Patriarch!” She heard someone cry out in alarm, followed by footsteps and the sound of gunfire.

She didn't understand what was happening.

She was petrified.

And completely at a loss.

All she knew was that they came running, a frenzied blur of motion that suddenly shoved her aside. She hit the wet pavement with a painful thud, rainwater seeping through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. Through the haze of her shock, she saw him being hoisted up, his body limp, as they rushed him away with utmost urgency.

Her face was drenched, and she couldn't tell if the wetness was from the relentless downpour or her own tears.

Blood, his blood, it just kept flowing, a stark contrast against the washed-out world around them. As they carried him off, drops of his life force still fell, marking a trail of crimson tears.

Could he die?

The thought terrorized her, a cold grip of fear that was far worse than the autumn rain that soaked through her every fiber. She was terrified, absolutely petrified.