Chapter 256
From Ashes to Queen Now I Call the Shots
256 Father’s Arrival
The room was deathly still, broken only by their ragged breathing.
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Shards of glass on the floor caught the pale moonlight, glowing like congealed blood.
Mother and daughter stared across the wreckage, no love left in their eyes–only hatred, only finality.
The bond was shattered beyond repair, ground to dust that could never be pieced together again.
Martha slammed the door and stormed out.
She thought bitterly that this daughter of hers was worthless,
Not worth her scheming, not worth her sacrifice.
Out on Langstrom Road, she pulled out her phone and dialed Franklin again and again.
Dozens of calls later, he finally answered.
His voice was hoarse, heavy with exhaustion.
But Martha didn’t care if he was weary from work or family troubles–she launched into the story, unloading all her grievances.
Franklin’s response was strangely misplaced.
“You’re saying Rebecca is a miracle healer, just… her reputation is damaged?”
Martha bristled.
“Franklin, did you even hear what I said?”
He didn’t answer, only asked quietly, “Where are you? I’ll come meet you now.”
Martha thought he meant to back her up, to soothe her pride.
After all, Rebecca had gone too far.
She was the mother, the elder–having stormed out, she couldn’t crawl back in defeated.
If Franklin came and made Rebecca apologize, she could return with her head held high.
Maybe Rebecca would correct her ways after this.
She rattled off the address and hung up, sighing.
Between mothers and daughters, was there really such deep hatred?
She knew she’d said things in anger–ugly things.
She hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
She sat on a low step to wait.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty.
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256 Father’s Arrival
Her thoughts soured as she waited.
Her three sons were all dutiful.
Oliver might be proud and aloof, but to his mother he had always been respectful.
So clearly, her parenting wasn’t the problem.
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If Rebecca had turned out this way, it was because she hadn’t been raised in her care all those years, because outsiders had spoiled her.
She could have raised her right.
Like Scarlett–when the girl had first entered the Joyner family, she’d been timid, shabby, hopeless.
Hadn’t she, Martha, shaped her into a dutiful, well–mannered girl?
The thought only deepened her bitterness.
Perhaps it was time to swallow her pride and speak kindly to Scarlett.
Scarlett was soft–hearted. She’d forgive her.
And then the Lane family might go easy on Oliver. Maybe even let the Joyners rise again.
Better that than living like this, trapped in an unfamiliar house with Rebecca.
Half an hour later, Franklin finally arrived, tumbling out of a taxi.
Martha’s heart leapt as she hurried to meet him.
His shoulders were damp with cold rain, his gray coat wrinkled, his collar skewed, his hair windswept. Red veins marred his eyes.
He looked utterly worn.
Mud clung to his pant legs, but he didn’t stop to brush it off. His stride faltered toward the villa.
Martha’s chest warmed–surely he had rushed here to take her side.
Tears and resentment thickened her voice as she reached for him.
“Finally! Do you know how that girl behaved? Rebecca–she actually raised a hand to me! What kind of daughter does that? I raised her all these years, and this is how she repays me?”
The words tumbled out as she tried to clutch his arm, but he sidestepped her touch.
His gaze was locked on the lit window upstairs, Adam’s apple bobbing as he rasped, “Rebecca’s up there?”
“Are you even listening to me?” Martha snapped, stung by his coldness. “I’m telling you, she disrespected me, hit me! You’re her father–don’t you think you should discipline her?”
“She’s not hurt?” Franklin finally looked at her, but not at her face. His eyes flicked over her arms as if searching for something. “You said on the phone…. She quarreled, her reputation…”
“Reputation? What about me?” Martha stamped her foot, livid. “She hit me—that’s the real problem! Come
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inside, make her apologize!”
But Franklin brushed past her, striding straight to the door.
Martha blinked, scrambling after him. “Where are you going? Listen to me first-
Finished
“Rebecca!” Franklin didn’t knock. He shoved the door open, his voice carrying an urgency Martha had never heard before, raw with tenderness. “Rebecca, I’m here!”
The living room was still a mess, littered with the debris of their fight.
Rebecca sat hunched on the sofa, back to the door, shoulders trembling.
At the sound of his voice, she whipped around.
Her eyes were swollen red.
Seeing Franklin, the dam inside her broke.
Her lips trembled as she choked out, “Dad…” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindηovel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access s of novels early and in the highest quality.
In an instant, Franklin was kneeling before her, cradling her face in his hands, frowning deeply at the tears streaking her cheeks.
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