Chapter 434

Margaret Dawson appeared to be an honest woman. Yet her tone dripped with contempt as she spoke.

"About twenty-eight years ago, my sister Beatrice handed me a child. She claimed it was abandoned. Out of pity, she asked me to take her in."

"She gave me a large sum of money to keep the child. I took care of the baby for a few days—only because I needed the cash. But that child wouldn’t stop crying at night. She was too much trouble, so I gave her to my father."

Eleanor Kingsley and William Montgomery listened, their hearts shattering with each word. Their daughter had cried for them—for their warmth, their comfort. Instead, she had been discarded like an unwanted burden.

All while they had doted on Beatrice’s own flesh and blood.

The irony was sickening.

Beatrice had the audacity to claim the child was abandoned by her parents. That she had taken her in out of kindness.

Lies.

Every word was a carefully crafted deception.

Beatrice had played the fool, the innocent. But she had known everything. How else would she have ensured her own daughter lived in luxury?

Margaret continued, indifferent. "My father wasn’t right in the head. But he seemed to like that child. After I gave her to him, I never asked about her again. Later, I heard he moved—just to send her to school. I don’t know where he went. It’s been thirty years since I last saw him. Or that child."

Evelyn Sinclair finally understood.

Her grandfather had been Beatrice’s father.

His own children had abandoned him. They hadn’t even known he had died.

The pain in her chest was unbearable—for herself, and for the man who had raised her.

Eleanor suddenly stood, her eyes burning with fury as she pointed at Beatrice.

"Beatrice! Is this the 'wonderful sister' you spoke of? Did you hear her? She didn’t just neglect my daughter—she dumped her on your father! And you dare call this a minor matter?"

"You robbed my daughter of her parents. She died without them by her side. Meanwhile, your own child lived in luxury from the moment she was born. You’re a monster. Heartless!"

The judge didn’t reprimand Eleanor. Perhaps he understood.

Beatrice lowered her head, silent.

The hearing ended. The verdict would come in an hour.

Outside, Eleanor’s tear-filled gaze locked onto Evelyn. The resemblance stunned her.

She rushed forward, pulling Evelyn into a desperate embrace.

"Sophia… my Sophia…"

Evelyn’s heart ached. She gently patted Eleanor’s back. "Mrs. Montgomery, don’t cry. It’s over now."

Yes. It was over. Soon, everything would be—

Alexander Blackwood arrived just then, his expression soft as he approached. "I came to take you home."

Evelyn blinked. "How did you know I was here?"

He smiled. "What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t know what you were thinking?"

The words should have been sweet. But Evelyn felt nothing.

Then she realized—they weren’t heading home.

They were going to the cemetery.

Alexander took her hand, leading her through the gates.

"I didn’t expect things to turn out this way the last time we came here. But there’s something you need to see."

They stopped before a grave—the same one that had been vandalized before. Now, it was restored.

Evelyn stared at the empty plot. A faint smile touched her lips. "Who was buried here before?"

Alexander met her gaze. "My ex-wife. Evelyn Sinclair."