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The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 557

Her phone was right beside her. For the first time, she dialed Victoria Turner’s number herself.

Victoria stared at the screen, momentarily frozen when she saw “Gwyneth” flash across the caller ID.

Celia was playing violin in the living room, the lilting notes filling the space. Not wanting to disturb the music or the call, Victoria quietly slipped out into the garden.

She glanced at the phone again, almost unable to believe Gwyn would call her at this hour.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked the screen. “Mom, it’s me—Gwyn—”

She barely got the words out before her voice wavered, thick with emotion.

Victoria, always sensitive to her daughter’s moods, instantly sensed something was wrong. “What is it, Gwyn? Has something happened?”

Just hearing her name spoken so gently shattered Gwyneth’s composure. She fought hard to swallow her sobs, biting her lip so her mother wouldn’t hear her crying.

On the other end, Victoria heard only silence and wondered if the call had dropped.

Then Gwyneth spoke again, her voice steady, as if nothing was wrong. “I’m okay. I’m doing well in Greenvale. I’ve made friends, and I found a great job. You don’t need to worry about me. I just… I just wanted to say I miss you, and Dad, so much.”

She rushed through the words and held the phone away from her face, terrified her mother would hear her tears.

Victoria sat there for a long moment, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Finally, voice trembling, she said, “Gwyn, when you’ve had enough time away, come home, sweetheart. Your dad misses you, and so do I. Auntie and Chris, and especially Celia—they’re always asking when their big sister’s coming back.”

What weighed on Victoria most was always Gwyneth. Her daughter’s thoughts and feelings were a mystery—she had McNeil’s quiet strength, but also Victoria’s sensitivity.

As a child, Gwyneth had been lively and stubborn, fiercely opinionated, loving and hating with equal passion. Even when she was wrong, she stood firm. Now she was still stubborn, but instead of confronting things, she chose to run away.

“No, it’s okay, Mom. I’ll bring presents for everyone when I come back. I’ve got to go now—I have something to take care of.”

She ended the call quickly, not trusting herself to speak any longer. As soon as the line went dead, the tears she’d kept at bay fell in a torrent.

“Mom, I can’t go back. I don’t deserve to go back.”

“If you miss home, then go home. Why would you ever think you don’t deserve it?”

At the doorway, a tall man stood watching her.

His features were sharp, his eyes usually cold, but right now there was a softness there Gwyneth had never seen. Startled, she realized her cheeks were wet with tears, and under Hawthorne’s gaze, she flushed bright red.

When had he come in? How much had he heard?

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