Filed to story: The Daughter in the Shadows (Yunice) Book by Una Norris
Yunice frowned slightly.
Morgan’s charges weren’t limited to Elsie. With everything coming to light, every crime he’d committed was surfacing in court. Acquittal was impossible – but a commuted sentence could be negotiated.
Nora’s logic was clear. As long as he was alive, there was hope.
Wyatt didn’t reply. He took Yunice and left the rehab room.
Only when they were alone did Yunice ask, “Who hit her? The bruises on her face?”
“Probably her father.”
“Her father?”
“The Johnson family favors boys over girls. They’ve always treated their daughters like pawns. Nora was sent abroad for training when she was little. As soon as she grew up, they brought her back to use as a bargaining chip. Her father’s always been hard on her. With Morgan arrested, he probably took it out on her.”
Yunice frowned. “What about her grandmother?”
“She’s the only one in the family who treats her well, but she’s old now – not much she can do.”
Yunice gave Wyatt a strange look.
He clearly didn’t understand the dynamics within the Johnson family.
The marks on Nora’s face weren’t left by Duncan.
Yunice hadn’t seen it happen, but her knowledge of anatomy told her the handprints were too narrow and short, especially at the knuckle spacing, to belong to a man. A man’s hand – especially Duncan’s – would be longer and broader.
Rose was overweight; her hand would’ve left wider prints.
But Madam Mary was thin to the bone – her hand structure matched perfectly.
Wyatt said Mary couldn’t help Nora. But that wasn’t right either.
Back when Mary and Duncan had gone to see her, it had been clear that Mary was in charge. Duncan respected her.
If Mary wanted to protect Nora, would Duncan really dare lay a hand on her?
Yunice stopped walking. “Wyatt, can you tell me something? Why do you always shield Morgan? Why are you always cleaning up his messes?”
Wyatt, seeing that she was full of questions today, said, “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
The hospital was too crowded and noisy.
Just down the street was a French restaurant.
A server came over to recommend dishes. “Sir, our signature is the white wine mussels. The lady might enjoy it.”
“No need,” Wyatt said, not even looking at the menu. “Chateaubriand steak, truffle mushroom cream soup with poached egg… apple pie and vanilla ice cream.”
The server nodded politely and walked off.
Yunice gave him a curious look. “Why’d you skip the mussels?”
“You like them?” Wyatt asked flatly.
Yunice’s heart skipped. That feeling again. “You knew I don’t like them?”
Wyatt said, “Just a guess.”
Just then, the server returned with the vanilla ice cream.
Yunice drifted into thought, her mind stuck on the mussels.
Years ago, Paul had taken her to a French place – with a female guest in tow.
That girl had tried to provoke her, saw that Yunice wasn’t touching the mussels, and laughed, maybe she didn’t know how to eat them.
When Yunice ignored her, she amped it up – pouting to Paul that Yunice was being rude.
Paul, annoyed, told Yunice to just eat one and be done with it.
Back then, Yunice had taken the path of least resistance. Rather than make a scene, she’d simply eaten a bite of the mussels without fuss. It wasn’t that she couldn’t eat them-she just didn’t like them.
And she was certain almost no one knew that.
So how had Wyatt predicted such a personal, obscure preference? Was it really just a lucky guess?
Wyatt brought the conversation back to her earlier question. “Helping Morgan is a matter of repaying a debt.”
Yunice countered, “But didn’t you say Nora deceived you, even got Mr. Fiona killed? And you still owe her a debt? Morgan’s a piece of trash.”
Wyatt replied, “Who said I’m doing it for Nora?”
Yunice lazily scooped up a bit of vanilla ice cream with her gold dessert spoon. “That’s what everyone says. Haven’t you heard?”
“Wise people don’t believe rumors,” Wyatt said calmly.
Her hand paused mid-air, and she shot him a look. Was he calling her stupid?
Wyatt’s gaze lingered on the long, elegant spoon, resting between Yunice’s pale fingers. Her nails were soft pink and translucent, and somehow, the sight tugged at something unspoken and suggestive.
Sensing his gaze, Yunice set the spoon down quietly and lowered her hand beneath the table.
Wyatt continued, “I’m helping Morgan because Madam Mary asked me to.”
He went on, “The Powell family probably brought this on themselves. After all their misdeeds, every child born into that family comes into the world under a curse.”
Come to think of it, that wasn’t wrong.
Margaret hadn’t just been pregnant with Paul-she’d lost several children before him. When she finally did carry Paul to term, she nearly died in childbirth. If it hadn’t been for Will, both mother and child might’ve been lost.
And Wyatt’s own mother? Jackson had disregarded her. When she went into labor, no one even opened the door to let her through.
Yunice hadn’t been around back then, but she could imagine just how brutal it must’ve been for Wyatt’s mother to survive.
Wyatt twirled the glass in his fingers, recalling, “Nobody helped her. They would’ve been glad if she’d died with the baby. They heard her cries for help and ignored them.”
He smirked bitterly. “I wasn’t lucky enough to have your dad around to deliver me.”
Yunice could hear the resentment. Was he really still hung up on the fact that her father had delivered Paul?
She changed the subject. “So what happened next?”
“My mom didn’t want to die. She climbed the wall and ran.”
Yunice felt a chill. How much strength and willpower did it take to be nine months pregnant, in labor, and still manage to scale a wall just to survive?
“She collapsed in front of a car. The driver took her to the hospital. That’s when she found out the one who helped her was Madam Mary.”
Yunice finally understood. That kind of life-saving debt wasn’t easy to repay.
No wonder Wyatt had let Madam Mary bite through his wrist during an episode. She’d saved his mother’s life.