She was Anthea’s grandma after all.
Even if she were to cripple Anthea, there wasn't a soul who could stop her.
Anthea clenched a feather duster in her hand, seemingly with a light grip, yet Gemma couldn't pry it away no matter how hard she tried. "You old hag! I'm warning you, this is my house! I have only one uncle, and his name is Uncle Nanson! If you keep spouting nonsense, don't blame me for not being nice!"
Anthea had always held a deep respect for the elderly.
In her past life, it was a kind stranger, an old woman, who had saved her life.
But facing Gemma's shameless attitude, Anthea couldn't muster any respect.
Gemma was both angry and scared when she looked at Anthea's face.
That fear was instinctual and uncontrollable.
Regardless, she was Anthea's grandmother. How dare Anthea, a younger generation, raise her voice at her?
Did she have no regard for her own grandmother?
In the moment, Gemma played her trump card, collapsing on the floor, wailing and shouting, "Somebody help! Come and see! A granddaughter hitting her grandmother! At my age, to be struck by a youngster! I can't go on! I'm done! You cursed little wretch! The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, a shameless hussy raising another nobody wants! She's killing someone..."
Felton slammed the table with a resounding smack, harmonizing with Gemma's performance on the floor, "What a family tragedy! To think I've raised such an ungrateful daughter! Striking her own parents! Oh, Lord! Why don't you just take us now? What purpose do we serve living in this world? You ungrateful child! You'll be struck down by divine retribution!"
Carole looked at her parents before her.
Memories of the past flashed through her mind, bringing tears to her eyes.
As a child, unloved by her father and mother, she was raised by Grandma until she was eleven.
At her grandma’s, she had experienced a blissful childhood.
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