Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 76: Words That Cut Deep

Chapter 76: Words That Cut Deep

Jerica sat, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. The ambiance of the Island Café, with its polished wooden furniture and faint aroma of roasted coffee beans, lent a cozy yet slightly formal atmosphere to the encounter.

"After the gala, I was expecting your call," Lydia said, the faintest trace of expectation lacing her words.

Jerica mustered a smile, careful to keep her tone neutral. "I apologize for that. The weekend was unexpectedly busy."

A moment of silence passed as Lydia’s gaze shifted to the waiter who approached, placing two menus on the table with practiced precision. Lydia gave a polite nod, her attention momentarily diverted.

Jerica picked up the menu, eyes skimming over the offerings until they landed on "Affogato." A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Coffee mingled with vanilla ice cream—comfort in a cup. But she hesitated. This was her first time at the Island Café, and she wasn’t confident in their ability to do it justice.

"They make an excellent affogato," Lydia said suddenly, as if reading Jerica’s thoughts. A smile curved her lips as she looked up at the waiter. "I was debating between the café mocha and affogato, but let’s have two affogatos."

The waiter acknowledged the order with a subtle bow and collected the menus as Jerica handed hers back, fingers brushing the worn leather cover.

"You have a sweet tooth, I see," Lydia said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "Just like me."

Jerica couldn’t help but return the smile, noticing the subtle signs of age on Lydia’s face—a softening around her eyes, the hint of lines that spoke of years of wisdom. "I do. I’ve always liked ice cream," Jerica admitted.

As the words left her mouth, a wave of nostalgia swept over her, unbidden. Images of Jared, meticulously crafting homemade ice cream in their kitchen, surfaced in her mind. She could almost hear the sound of the ice cream maker whirring, feel the cool spoon in her mouth, taste the sweetness that lingered after a shared laugh.

The warmth faded, replaced by a hollow ache. This meeting wasn’t about sweet memories. She needed to be vigilant.

-

"Was it a childhood favorite?" Lydia asked, taking a delicate sip from her glass of water. Every movement she made was slow, deliberate, elegant—as if she had all the time in the world and wielded power over every second. Jerica couldn’t help but be captivated by Lydia’s poised demeanor, a living embodiment of refinement that left Jerica feeling small in comparison.

"Was it your comfort food growing up?" Lydia continued, her voice soft but piercing. "It must have been tough being the unwanted, lonely child when all your mother’s attention was focused on your brother."

The tentative smile that had begun to form on Jerica’s face froze, fading as she clenched her hands beneath the table. Lydia’s words were blades wrapped in velvet, cutting into the fragile armor Jerica had carefully built around herself.

"I heard your mother left you in a boarding school so she could take care of your autistic brother. That must have been difficult. Still, you turned out quite well, considering..." Lydia’s voice trailed off, the words landing with a weight that threatened to crush the silence between them.

Jerica barely heard the rest. The room around her seemed to blur as her mind was wrenched back to those hollow years of her childhood. It was not just the memory of her mother’s affair with Judge Jefferson that hurt, but the cold realization that she had become invisible to her mother long before that. The day her brother was diagnosed with autism, Jerica’s purpose had shifted in her mother’s eyes—from a golden child to an accessory that no longer shone brightly enough.

Her mother had once been her greatest admirer, placing Jerica on a pedestal built on relentless ambition. From as far back as Jerica could remember, she had been pushed to be exceptional at everything. Ballet classes, piano and violin lessons, advanced reading assignments when she could barely hold a book properly—all orchestrated by her mother, who hovered like a restless spirit, demanding perfection. Jerica had strived, succeeded, and basked in the fleeting glow of her mother’s rare smiles and approving pats on the cheek.

Then came the birth of her brother, and everything changed. Jerica had doubled her efforts, terrified of losing her mother’s attention. She excelled at school, polished her performances, and lived for those moments when her mother might acknowledge her brilliance. But when her brother’s diagnosis came, it was as if a shadow swallowed the sun. Her mother fell into a suffocating depression, locking herself away from the world. Jerica’s achievements, once cherished as family pride, became meaningless in the face of her mother’s grief.

Hope flared briefly when Jerica thought her success might lift her mother’s spirits. But instead, her mother discovered a new way to bolster her image—a narrative that painted her as the devoted, heroic mother of an autistic child. It was a story that garnered admiration, sympathy, and social standing. Her mother’s shame and frustration toward Jerica’s brother were hidden behind a mask of loving sacrifice when speaking to others. She launched a foundation, created a public persona, and Jerica became a relic of the past—relegated to the background, no longer the centerpiece of her mother’s ambition.

The loneliness of being sent to boarding school had been painful, but it was, in hindsight, a sanctuary. It was there, away from the cold indifference of home, that Jerica began to piece herself back together. She learned to survive without the validation she had once craved, but deep down, the scars remained. The longing for attention, for someone to choose her, never faded.

This deep-rooted fear resurfaced with Jared. When he began to seem distant, ignoring her in favor of work or other concerns, Jerica’s old panic awakened. The memory of being unseen, unloved, had shaped her instinct to flee before he could find someone or something else to focus on. It wasn’t just pride; it was survival. She refused to be that forgotten child again, sidelined by the one person she desperately wanted to notice her.

"I can see why you’re hesitant to take control of the foundation."

Jerica snapped back to the present, pulled abruptly from the dark well of her memories by the weight of Lydia’s gaze. It was unwavering, like a hunter watching for the slightest tremor of weakness in its prey. Lydia’s serene expression remained fixed, but Jerica felt a chill creep down her spine, sensing the older woman knew precisely where her words had cut deepest.