You Looked Down on Me Once Now You Look Up (Patricia and Oliver) novel Chapter 635

“Aunt Patricia, did you send Jackson away?”

“I did. Why?”

Sara paused, phone in hand, letting out a surprised little sound.

Roger chimed in from the side, “Now she’s got nobody to play games with.”

Patricia just smiled. “He’ll be back in a few days.”

That weekend, Patricia stayed home instead of heading to the office. After lunch, she quietly slipped a photo into an envelope and called Aiden over, asking him to take it out to the prison for Emerson.

With Jackson gone, Aiden wasn’t as reliable, so Patricia reminded him, again and again, “Make sure this gets to Emerson. Directly to him, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That day, Emerson received the new photo. He slid it out of the envelope. In the picture, Amber was wearing cozy loungewear, gently rocking a baby to sleep. The little one was curled up on her shoulder, soft and sweet.

Emerson stared at the photo, lost for a moment.

His finger brushed softly over the baby’s tiny cheek, trembling just a bit.

His lips moved, like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

He should have been there when his child was born. But now…

For days, Patricia sent him a photo every morning. It was like, even through prison bars, he could be a part of his child’s life—just a little.

On the sixth day, Emerson waited, hoping for the next photo.

But that day, nothing came. Not in the morning, not by nightfall. No envelope, nothing.

Anxiety crept in, making it impossible for him to sit still. He wanted to reach out to Patricia, but he was locked up and powerless.

It wasn’t until the middle of September, on a dreary, rainy afternoon, that Patricia finally showed up at the prison.

This time, she took the lead. She sat across from Emerson in the visiting room, but didn’t bother picking up the phone.

She just sat there, lips curled in a mocking smile, her eyes full of sarcasm and challenge.

Patricia leaned back, making it obvious she could walk away at any second.

Emerson was trapped. Backed into a corner, he had no other choices.

Tina, or Amber and the child. He had to decide.

A loyal wife, or a woman who felt like the one who got away—and their son.

No one could make a choice like that easily.

Emerson stared at Patricia, his fingers pressing hard against the table before curling in defeat. His posture wilted, all the fight gone.

He spoke, voice nearly a whisper, “Please. I’m begging you. Let me go.”

“After all, I didn’t destroy you when I had the chance. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Begging her? As if that would make a difference.

If pleading worked, why even bother with the law? If begging could fix things, why had Patricia done everything she could to see him locked up?