"Irwin is still just a child. Where exactly do you expect me to send him?"
"That's not really my problem," Briony replied, her tone detached and unconcerned.
"Briony, even if you're angry, that's no reason to say something like this."
"My son is dead, Stewart. Rosita killed him. Do you really think I'm just being petty?"
Stewart's gaze darkened as he stared at her.
Briony let out a cold laugh. "Moral lectures won't work on me anymore, Stewart. Besides, you've got money to burn—doesn't Jeannie look after Irwin just fine?"
"She's just his teacher. That's not the same as a mother."
"Then send Irwin back to Rosita. As far as I'm concerned, I had one son—and he's gone. You took him from me, ignored my wishes, and buried him in your family's plot! Stewart, tell me, how am I supposed to forgive that?"
Stewart faltered, stunned.
Briony fought to keep her grief at bay, her voice icy. "Don't act like this is tearing you up inside. If you can't stand to see Irwin suffer, then let me and Little Nina go. You two can play happy family, live in peace and comfort, never worrying whether I'll be cruel to Irwin again."
"Briony, are you serious right now?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Honestly, Stewart, just look at Jeannie. Irwin needs a mother—she's perfect. Marry Jeannie, and you get a ready-made wife and a live-in nanny. Two birds, one stone."
Stewart glared at her, his jaw tight.
At that, James, who'd just taken a sip of tea, sputtered and nearly choked.
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