Page 57 of His Son's Wife
Sayla’s nails dug into my hand but we remained seated.
“Thank you, Wilson. Have Mrs Davis serve tea.”
“Of course, sir,” he said—his eyes landing on Gabriel.
His lips pressed together. The only sign of emotion from Wilson since the event eleven years ago.
The door closed.
Gabriel stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His glare was directed at Sayla. Then his eyes dropped to our joined hands.
“My wife and father,” he sneered.“How long have you had eyes on her, Dad?”
His hair was longer than in the last photo the PI had sent. He hadn’t shaved in a while either. But more than any of that was the sheer weight of hostility in his eyes—the same shade of blue as mine, carrying something mine never had.
“It’s only fair,” I murmured.“You took my wife and now I’ve taken yours. I’d call us even.”
He took a few steps closer, incensed, then turned his stare on Sayla.
“Fucking slut. You worthless piece of—”
“That’s enough,” I roared, rising from the couch.
“Yes. I fucking did it. I pushed her down the stairs. Both of you were incompetent,” he screamed.“You ruined my life.”
I froze.
He’d finally said it out loud.
He began to pace, raking his hands through his hair.
“Too strict. Too many classes. Expectations to be like you,” he said, turning to stab his finger in the air.“And now?”
I glanced at Sayla as she slowly stood and took my hand again.
“You’re cutting me out of your will for that fucking bitch,” he said, moving closer.
I stepped forward and manoeuvred Sayla behind me.
He stopped. I could almost hear the calculation begin.
“Keep her. I just want my inheritance,” he said, nostrils flaring.“Before you die. You have plenty. I want what I’m owed.”
I raised my lapel.
“Did you get all that?”
The door burst open.
The police flooded in.
“Gabriel Kersey, I’m arresting you for—”
I turned to Sayla and she buried her face into my chest. She didn’t need to say anything—I could feel my shirt grow damp. I gently rubbed her back.
There was no statute of limitations. He would be charged with murder, coercive control and domestic violence. His trust fund income would be cut—he couldn’t benefit from his mother’s death.
He had nothing left.
