Just then, Timothy's phone rang.
It was a call from Sallie.
The moment he answered, Sallie's voice exploded through the receiver. "Timothy, are you out of your mind? Why did you sell Mom's pearl necklace? If you didn't want it, you could have given it to me! What right do you have to sell Mom's keepsake?"
She was seconds away from outright screaming at him.
Timothy's lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
He'd been waiting all day, and now it made sense why Jessica hadn't come home.
She'd actually sold the necklace he'd given her.
Without another word, Timothy hung up on Sallie, rose to his feet, and strode straight out of the house.
Sheila and Henry arrived back just as he was leaving.
"Timothy."
"Dad."
They called out in unison.
But Timothy's face was thunderous, his expression cold as stone. He didn't even look at them—he slammed the door behind him and was gone.
Henry raised his eyebrows. "What's up with Dad? Did something major just happen?"
Sheila had no clue.
She had rarely seen Timothy in such a foul mood.
It had to be something big.
She turned to Mabel. "Mabel, you're home all day. Any idea what got your boss so worked up?"
Truthfully, Mabel was just as baffled. He'd spent the whole day working from home, and now—right after the other woman reappeared—he'd stormed out.
It made no sense.
"I'm just the housekeeper. I don't know what goes on with him."
Mabel despised people who tore families apart. The lady of the house had always been so kind; even though the master wasn't around much, before Sheila showed up, everything was peaceful. The couple respected each other, and the home felt warm.
Now that Sheila was here, the master lingered at home more often, but it no longer felt like home.
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