Phoebe was fully aware of Mrs. Reynolds’s worries; she shared them. However, was it possible to monitor them forever? If Theodore had any intention to stray, any brief moment could lead to something unspeakable with Vanessa. Shaking her head, Phoebe banished the troubling thoughts. “Mom, I know you’re worried about me, but I trust Theodore,” she affirmed.

Mrs. Reynolds wanted to knock some sense into Phoebe, but she restrained herself, trying to lighten the mood instead. “You just try to have a baby as soon as possible. Theodore’s really looking forward to being a dad.” Phoebe felt a pang of guilt, especially for keeping her father-in-law’s infidelity from her. Seeing her mother-in-law so concerned tugged at her conscience.

“Mom,” Phoebe hesitated, “how are things between you and dad? Is your relationship okay?”

“We’re an old couple. What’s there to be ‘okay’ or not?” Mrs. Reynolds replied. “At our age, love and novelty are things of the past. It all boils down to companionship.”

Phoebe’s heart sank. Women might resign to their fates in their fifties or sixties, but for men, it seemed like a second spring of love was just beginning.

“And how do you feel about dad?”

Mrs. Reynolds was caught off guard by the unusual question. “Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?”

“Just curious,” Phoebe quickly reassured, fearing suspicion. “My father went out to sea when I was five, never to return. My mother waited for him all these years. She never spoke of love, but I know, deep down, she must have loved him; otherwise, she wouldn’t have waited for so long.”

“Your mother’s had a hard life,” Mrs. Reynolds sighed, her voice tinged with sympathy.

Initially, Mrs. Reynolds thought Phoebe, the daughter of a servant, wasn’t suitable for Theodore. Hearing now of Phoebe’s father’s disappearance made Mrs. Reynolds empathize with Phoebe’s lack of paternal affection growing up.

No wonder Phoebe was so determined and independent, insisting on going back to work soon after her miscarriage, unwilling to stay at home, living solely in the shadow of a man.

Phoebe smiled faintly, steering the conversation back. “Mom, you should pay more attention to dad. Even for a love that’s decades old, they still need care and affection, right? I saw this post on Facebook about an elderly couple who’ve been together for sixty years and still maintain that spark of romance.”

“Love will thrive for as long as we’re willing to put in the effort and care, won’t it?” Phoebe mused aloud.

Mrs. Reynolds felt a stir in her heart, but her thoughts veered in the next second, “Phoebe, I used to think you were just thick-headed, but hearing you now, it seems you understand a thing or two about marriage. Why can’t you apply that wisdom to Theodore?”

Phoebe paused, the unspoken words ‘because he doesn’t love me!’ heavy on her tongue.

All her words felt wasted as Mrs. Reynolds seemed to miss the point entirely. Phoebe was mentally exhausted!

In the underground parking garage, a sleek black Bentley was waiting by the elevator. The driver stepped out to open the back door.

Mrs. Reynolds gracefully sank into the seat, and the driver closed the door after her. She rolled down her window and waved at Phoebe, still standing outside, “Take care.”

Phoebe watched the vehicle disappear around the corner before she turned to take the elevator upstairs.

She wondered if Mrs. Reynolds had taken her words to heart, feeling empathy for Mrs. Reynolds when she recalled the sight of Brandon, arms wrapped around another woman in intimate familiarity. It was an image of him she had never witnessed before.

In her mind, Brandon had the presence of a feudal patriarch, distant and imposing. Yet today, there he was, his laughter warm and heartfelt in a way she’d never seen, as he held that woman close.

‘If Mrs. Reynolds found out what her husband did, she must be feeling sad’. Phoebe thought.

Returning home, Phoebe was downcast. The sound of running water came from the kitchen, where she didn’t spot anyone in the living room. Slipping on her house slippers, Phoebe walked towards the kitchen, mug in hand, to find Theodore awkwardly washing dishes, while Vanessa stood by with a towel pressed against her face, watching him.

The pair were engaged in light-hearted chatter, but fell silent as Phoebe entered.

A wave of awkwardness nearly overwhelmed her, urging her to flee, but she reminded herself, this was her home-why should she run?

She walked in, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the countertop, observing Theodore’s dishwashing efforts. Vanessa was the one who now seemed uncomfortable.

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