Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 217

Yvonne looked at Teresa and the glass of milk on the table, her brow furrowing. Perhaps it was the original Yvonne's emotions surfacing again, but a strange bitterness welled up in her chest.

"I was raised by Megan for over a decade, and I never had milk. Every time I watched them drink it, I would wonder what it tasted like. I imagined it must be delicious."

"Then, when I came back home, I watched you bring a glass of warm milk to Queena every night, telling her to be sure to drink it before bed."

"Queena must not have liked milk, because she usually poured it out behind your back. One time she forgot, so I secretly took the glass and drank it. But it tasted metallic and bitter. It wasn't good at all."

Influenced by the original Yvonne's feelings, Yvonne's eyes grew slightly red.

Hearing this, Teresa broke down completely. "Yvonne, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"It's alright. I forgive you," Yvonne said flatly, looking at Teresa.

Teresa was surprised Yvonne would forgive her so easily, but before she could feel any relief, Yvonne added, "Not everyone is cut out to be a good mother. I understand."

Teresa's face was a mess of tears and snot, a pathetic sight.

Yvonne kindly handed her a tissue and advised, "Stop crying. You should save your energy. George's trial is tomorrow. There will be plenty to cry about after he's sentenced to prison."

Teresa's knuckles turned white as she clutched the tissue.

The next day was the trial.

Everyone in the Spencer family was up early. Breakfast was as lavish as usual, but the atmosphere at the table was incredibly tense.

"I've looked into Dad's case," Jeffrey said, stirring the oatmeal in his bowl. "They have witnesses and physical evidence. There's no way he's getting off."

Queena looked haggard, her eyes swollen. It was hard to tell if she'd been crying for George or if life with the Rogers family was treating her poorly.

"Mom, Jeffrey," Queena approached them, her eyes brimming with tears, wearing her usual pitiful, aggrieved expression.

However, Jeffrey looked right through her as if she were invisible.

Teresa's response was even colder. "Don't call me that. I'm not your mother." Then she took Yvonne's arm and walked into the courthouse.

George's trial began promptly at ten in the morning.

George's hair was cut short. He wore a prison vest and handcuffs, escorted by two officers. His back was finally bent, and he seemed to have aged a decade overnight.