The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 307

“Penelope, Grandpa and I spent all our money on train tickets to see you, so we had to eat leftovers at this restaurant. But this bowl has all the good bits I picked out just for you. Go on, eat,” Mrs. Lancaster said, her face a mask of loving kindness.

Penelope fought back her anger and pushed the bowl toward Mrs. Lancaster with a smile. “You eat, Grandma.”

“We’ve already eaten. We shared half a bowl of leftover noodles.”

“Then you must still be hungry.”

“No, no, we’re full. Old people don’t eat much.”

Penelope was about to lose her composure, but seeing Mrs. Lancaster’s deliberately crafted look of fragile love, she knew she had to play along.

This was a performance. Whoever acted best would win.

“Grandma, you’ve lost weight,” Penelope said, her eyes welling with tears.

“Well, ever since your father passed…”

“I know. You must hate him too, deep down.”

“That’s not…”

“He drank, gambled, stole, and beat his wife and child. He never once showed you two any respect. But he was still your son.”

Mrs. Lancaster’s face hardened. “Your father was a good man.”

“A mother’s love can be a curse. If you hadn’t spoiled him so much, he wouldn’t have gambled away the house, ended up in jail every other week for fighting, or abused us so badly that my mother almost died. She only killed him because she had no other choice.”

“No matter what, a woman shouldn’t kill her husband…”

“So we were just supposed to let him beat us to death?”

“How can you defend your mother? Your father is dead!”

“Thankfully, the law is just. My mother’s actions were ruled self-defense, and Lucien got what he deserved.”

The crowd murmured, finally getting a clearer picture of the situation.

“So their son was a monster. That’s why he was killed.”

Penelope’s lips curled into a smirk. She snatched the chicken leg from Mrs. Lancaster’s hand and, before the old woman could react, shoved it into her mouth.

“Mmph!”

“You need to eat more, Grandma. It might be someone’s leftovers, covered in their spit, but you’ve always hated wasting food. So you’d better clean that bone!”

She held the back of Mrs. Lancaster’s head, forcing her to take several bites until only the bone was left, then let her go.

“You… you… gag…”

“Your granddaughter is just worried about you. You’re so thin.”

Mrs. Lancaster was anything but thin, but her sharp, pinched features gave her a perpetually cruel look.

Seeing his wife being humiliated, Mr. Lancaster Sr. roared at Penelope, “You made your grandmother eat someone else’s leftovers! Have you no shame?”

“You seemed to think it was perfectly fine when you wanted me to eat it.”