Martha's POV
“Martha, if you’re crazy, go get treated. Don’t come here making a scene!”
Once dropping his usual calm demeanor, Randall stood in front of Paula, shielding her with his body as he angrily yelled at me.
Guests turned their heads, curiosity lighting their eyes.
Fingers pointed, whispers spread—an uninvited woman barging in and slapping someone in the middle of a concert?
To them, I must have looked unhinged.
They had no idea who I was to Randall.
After all, in the thirty-five years of our marriage, he’d never once brought me to an event like this. Not like he did with Paula.
They saw me as nothing more than a crazed, aging woman, someone they assumed had lost her mind, their eyes full of disdain.
I swallowed the humiliation, the buzzing sound in my ears growing louder.
With trembling hands, I pointed at the sapphire necklace hanging around Paula’s neck, demanding, “Randall, how dare you let her wear the necklace my mom gave me? How dare you? You know full well that Paula killed my mom. So why give her something that belonged to my mom? Why?”
My voice cracked with anger and sorrow.
For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of guilt in Randall’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by disbelief as he looked at me like I was crazy.
“Stop accusing people without proof. The person who killed your mother is already in jail, and it has nothing to do with Paula. If you keep spouting nonsense, I’ll sue you for slander!”
Paula, pretending to be the innocent victim, acted shocked and began comforting me with fake sympathy, her voice sweetly condescending.
“Martha, I know losing your mother is painful, but how can you slander me like this? I’ve never hurt anyone.”
She began to cry, dramatically wiping her eyes as if the weight of my accusations had deeply wounded her.
The guests around us maintained their perfect act, their piercing glares and whispered insults slicing through the air. To them, I wasn’t a grieving daughter but a lunatic attacking a defenseless woman.
But I couldn’t care less.
Fury bubbled up inside me, and without thinking, I lunged at Paula, trying to yank the necklace off her neck.
Before my hand could even reach her, Randall kicked me to the ground.
I hit the corner of a table hard, and a hot, wet sensation spread across my skull.
"She's bleeding!" someone screamed, but no one moved to help me.
Randall stood over me, his gaze a mix of disdain and warning.
“Martha, don’t think just because you’re my wife, you can do whatever you want. Yes, the necklace is yours, but Paula just thought it was pretty and wanted to wear it for a few days. She’ll give it back soon, but you came in here making wild accusations. This can’t just be brushed aside.”
“I’ve decided to give the necklace to Paula as compensation,” he continued, his voice cold. “And you’ll apologize to her.”
Blood trickled down my neck. My vision swam. Rage and sorrow twisted inside me until I could barely breathe.
“Randall," I roared hoarsely, "where is your conscience?”
But he only leaned down, voice like ice, he said, “You’ve got three seconds. Are you going to apologize or not? Three, two, one...”
Barely a second passed after 'one' when Paula stepped forward, blocking Randall.
With an expression of fake understanding, she said, “It’s alright, Randall. If Martha doesn’t want me touching her things, I’ll return the necklace. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m a thief.”
She removed the necklace and, with a mocking smile, handed it to me.
A flicker of hope surged in my chest.
I reached out eagerly, but just as my fingers brushed the necklace, she let it fall from her hands.
The sapphire necklace hit the floor, shattering into pieces.
I froze, unable to react for a moment.
Paula gasped, covering her mouth in exaggerated surprise. “Martha, why didn’t you catch it? Now look, it’s broken!”
Her eyes were full of subtle provocation, cutting deeper than anything else could.
I couldn’t hold my anger in any longer.
With a strangled cry, I lunged and grabbed her throat.
“Paula, you’ve gone too far!”
But Randall kicked me away again.
This time, my head struck a chair. Blood immediately stained the chair, and my vision blurred. Everything around me faded as I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed.
Randall was standing beside me, his eyes bloodshot, clearly having stayed the night.
Upon seeing me awake, his eyes showed a little less worry, but his voice was icy as he said, “Martha, when will you ever learn to compromise? You ruined the concert last night, and now Paula is full of guilt because of you.”
Then, he reached for something on the side table.
“I’ve already had your mother’s necklace repaired. Once you’re discharged, you’ll go and apologize to Paula. Otherwise, I’ll never speak to you again.”
I ignored him, my focus only on the necklace.
Randall quickly handed it to me.
The 'repair' was merely a quick fix—carelessly applied glue, making the necklace look distorted. However, I felt some relief, knowing my mom’s gift wasn’t lost and was still in my hands.
Randall seemed to want to say something else, but his phone rang.
It was Paula.
For the next few days, Randall was completely absent, his attention solely on Paula.
I saw his face every day in her social media posts, smiling and living life as if nothing had changed.
On the fifth day, I was finally discharged from the hospital.
As soon as I walked out, my phone rang.
It was Randall.
“After you’re out of the hospital, go straight to Paula’s house. I’ve prepared a gift for you to bring as part of your apology.”
Delbert and Jenna also reached out to me, urging me not to ignore the situation and to apologize to Paula as soon as possible.
Even Ozzie contacted me through his smartwatch, calling me shameless for trying to steal from his Auntie Paula.
I didn’t reply to any of them, except for the private investigator who had contacted me earlier.
“I’ve found the evidence you asked for, and I’ve consulted a lawyer. He said that if you send this evidence to the police, Paula will definitely be sentenced to death.”
I thanked him, paid him, and immediately sent the evidence to the authorities.
At the same time, my assistant contacted me, informing me that all my investments and resources in the Ottinger Group had been successfully withdrawn.
My passport and visa were already arranged.
With everything in place, I headed to the airport with the flight ticket I had purchased the night before for Montclair.
As the plane soared into the sky and the landscape shrank beneath me, a sense of freedom washed over me.
It was alive and free.
‘Randall, Paula, the gift I've prepared for you… it’s on its way.’
