Theodore still remembered Gabrielle kneeling on the floor in tears.
“It was not me, Theodore,” she had cried desperately. “Brianna hates me and she is lying. Please listen to me because I am trying to tell you something important.”
Blinded by anger and humiliation he had refused to hear another word.
“Take her out of my house immediately,” he had ordered the security staff. “She leaves with nothing.”
Gabrielle had been forced out that night without money and without protection.
Theodore had never allowed her to finish the sentence she tried to say.
A loud car horn from another vehicle passing behind them snapped him back to the present moment.
Brianna pulled a twenty dollar bill from her purse, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it through the window so it landed in the dust near Gabrielle’s feet.
“Here you go, homeless lady,” Brianna said with cruel amusement. “Buy some milk for those little bastards.”
Gabrielle glanced down briefly at the money before raising her eyes again toward Theodore.
There was no hatred in her expression.
Only a quiet sorrow that carried an almost painful pity.