Page 186 of This Life of Mine

“And Virginia,” she adds, bitterness flaring. “She knew what I was capable of.” Her lips curl. “She never gave me grace or empathy. Not once.”

“From the moment she met me,” she continues. “She saw who I was underneath the smiles and charity luncheons.” Her eyes narrow. “She never liked me. And I despised her for it.”

She doesn’t soften. Doesn’t flinch. Then her gaze snaps back to me.

“But you…she adored.”

“You walked away so damn easily,” she says, sounding wounded. “You didn’t beg. You didn’t bargain. You didn’t stay and rot like I did.” Her jaw tightens. “And she gave you what she never gave me. Freedom.”

Understanding washes through me. She was envious I escaped the same life she continued living.

“She defended you,” Elinor continues. “Listened to you. Protected you.” Her voice sharpens. “To her, you were worth saving.”

The gun rises again, steady now. Pushing into my skull. Her eyes red with fury.

“She thoughtyouwere enough,“ she says, voice low, “but not me.”

Her mouth twists. “And you…you got everything that was supposed to be mine.”

Her voice drops. “And I hated you for it.”

“I loved my son until he became just like his father,” she says flatly.

Something in her expression hardens, resentment calcifying into something colder as she drives the barrel harder into my temple.

I momentarily avert my gaze, shoving the pain of the metal against my head, down.

“So don’t stand there and talk to me about loving Cole,” she snaps. “You loved him. I endured himandhis fucking father.“ She scoffs, dismissing him entirely now.

Then, her eyes glint with something close to pride. “I planned to run off more than once,” she continues. “Disappear. Start over. But every time I got close, Virginia was right there. Watching and digging. Asking questions she had no damn business asking.”

The gun pushes harder into my head.

“So I realized something,” she says softly. “If I want security, if I want out, she has to go.”

My stomach churns.

“She was already fragile,” she goes on. “Medication. Caregivers. No one questions a slow decline when it fits the narrative.” She shrugs. “I paid the right people under the table. Adjusted dosages. A little here. A little there. Nothing obvious.”

Her calm is terrifying.

“By the time anyone could notice,” she says, “it was too late.”

She tilts her head toward me. “Poison doesn’t have to be fast to be effective.”

Nausea slams into me.

My inner sense told me she played a part in Virginia’s demise. Now it’s confirmed.

“As for my grandchild…” she says then, her mouth curling as if she’s tasting something sour.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

“Oh honey,” she sighs, almost indulgent. “You were about to bring another male Allister into this world. That child would have grown into the same thing his father became and his grandfather before him.”

She studies me, utterly unrepentant. “I did you a favor,” she whispers in my ear.

The words are light. Casual. Like she’s talking about returning a defective purchase.