Hell Hath no fury like a billionaire's Ex

Mrs. Evans (POV)

The gentle crash of waves against the shore echoed in my ears as I sat alone on the porch of Joan's beach house. The wooden chair creaked beneath me as I leaned back, my eyes fixed on the horizon where the sky met the sea.

The beauty of the scene before me was lost on my troubled mind, consumed as it was with thoughts of my daughters.

How had it come to this? The question plagued me, spinning endless circles in my mind as I tried to pinpoint the moment when everything had gone so terribly wrong between Diane and Sophie.

My thoughts drifted back to their childhood, to a time when their bond seemed unbreakable. I could almost hear the echo of their laughter, see the ghost of their younger selves running along this very beach.

Diane, always the protective older sister, her hand firmly grasping Sophie's as they splashed in the shallows. "Be careful, Sophie!" she'd call out, her voice filled with a maturity beyond her years. Even then, Diane had been the caretaker, the responsible one.

I remembered the day Sophie fell off her bike, scraping her knee badly. It was Diane who had scooped her up, carried her inside, and carefully cleaned the wound, all while murmuring soothing words. "It's okay, Soph. I've got you. You're so brave."

As they grew older, their bond only seemed to strengthen. Diane, fiercely protective of her little sister, was always there to offer advice, to lend a shoulder to cry on, to celebrate Sophie's victories as if they were her own.

The day Sophie got her first heartbreak, it was Diane who held her as she cried, who stayed up all night watching cheesy movies and eating ice cream straight from the container. "He doesn't deserve you, Soph," Diane had said, her arm around her sister's shoulders. "You're worth so much more than that."

How had we gone from those moments of sisterly love to... this? To betrayal and heartbreak that cut so deep it threatened to tear our family apart?

I closed my eyes, feeling the sting of tears. Where had I gone wrong as a mother? Should I have seen the signs? Could I have prevented this somehow?

The sound of a car passing by jolted me from my reverie. My eyes snapped open, and suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I couldn't sit here wallowing in memories and regrets. I needed to act, to try and salvage what was left of my family.

With a newfound determination, I stood up, my joints protesting the sudden movement. I hurried inside, my eyes scanning the room until they landed on one of Joan's car keys on the kitchen counter. Without a second thought, I snatched them up and headed for the door.

The drive to Sophie's apartment was a blur of familiar streets and traffic lights. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white with tension. What would I say to her? How could I make her understand the magnitude of what she'd done?

As I pulled up to Sophie's building, I caught a glimpse of movement in one of the upper windows. Was that Sophie? My heart raced as I parked the car and immediately ran to the entrance.

I pressed the buzzer for Sophie's apartment, once, twice, three times. No response.

"Sophie!" I called out, my voice carrying through the intercom. "Sophie, please. It's Mom. We need to talk."

Still nothing. I stepped back, craning my neck to look up at her window. The curtain twitched, and I knew she was there, hiding from me.

Frustration and worry warred within me as I pulled out my phone, dialing Sophie's number. It rang once, twice, before going to voicemail. I tried again, and again, each attempt met with the same result.

"Sophie, please," I said into the phone after the beep. "I'm not here to yell or to judge. I just want to talk. Please, sweetheart. Open the door."

Outside, I waited for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. With each passing moment, my hope dwindled. Finally, with a heavy heart, I turned away from the door.

As I walked back to the car, I couldn't help but look back one last time. The curtain in Sophie's window fell back into place, and I knew she had been watching me leave. The knowledge that my daughter was so close, yet so unreachable, felt like a physical ache in my chest.

The drive back to the beach house was silent, my earlier determination replaced by a profound sadness. I had failed again, unable to reach Sophie, unable to bridge the rift that had opened up in our family.

As I pulled into the driveway, I saw Diane's car parked outside. My heart clenched, knowing I would have to tell her about my failed attempt to speak with Sophie. How much more could she take?

I entered inside and found Diane in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.

"Mom? Where have you been?"

I sank into a chair at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling every one of my years. "I went to see Sophie," I admitted softly.

Diane's posture stiffened, her hand tightening around the mug. "And?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"She wouldn't see me," I said, the words heavy on my tongue. "She was there, but... she wouldn't open the door. Wouldn't answer her phone."

Diane's face crumpled for a moment before she schooled her features back into a mask of indifference. But I had seen it - the flash of hurt, of betrayal, of longing for the sister she had once known and loved.

"Diane," I began, reaching out to take her hand. "I know this is hard-"

"Don't," she cut me off, pulling her hand away. "Just... don't, Mom. I can't talk about her right now."

I nodded, respecting her wishes even as my heart broke for both my daughters. We sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, Diane spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember when we were kids, and Sophie got stung by a jellyfish at the beach?"

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness in the air. "You insisted on being the one to treat it, even though you were only twelve."

"I told her I'd always protect her," Diane continued, her eyes far away. "That as long as I was around, nothing bad would ever happen to her."

The irony of those childhood promises hung heavy between us. Now it was Sophie who had hurt Diane, in a way that no amount of sisterly protection could have prevented.

"You were always such a good sister," I said softly. "None of this is your fault, Diane."

She looked at me then, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I failed her somehow?"

I stood up and moved to her side, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. This time, she didn't pull away. "Oh, sweetheart," I murmured into her hair. "You didn't fail anyone. Sophie... She made her own choices. Choices that have hurt us all."

Diane nodded against my shoulder, and I felt the dampness of her tears seeping through my shirt. We stayed like that for a long time, mother and daughter united in our grief for the family we once were, and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the kitchen, I gently pulled away from Diane. "Why don't you go lie down for a bit?" I suggested. "I'll make us some dinner."

She nodded, looking exhausted. As she stood to leave the kitchen, she paused in the doorway. "Mom?" she said, turning back to me. "Thank you. For trying with Sophie, I mean. Even if... even if it didn't work."

I smiled sadly. "She's still my daughter, Diane. Just like you are. I won't give up on either of you."

After Diane had gone upstairs, I turned to the task of making dinner, my hands moving automatically through the familiar motions of chopping vegetables and heating oil in a pan. But my mind was elsewhere, still grappling with the events of the day.

I thought of Sophie, alone in her apartment, hiding from me and the consequences of her actions. I thought of Diane, carrying the weight of betrayal on her shoulders. And I thought of myself, caught in the middle, desperately trying to hold together the pieces of our fractured family.

As I stirred the simmering pot on the stove, I made a silent promise to both my daughters. I would not let this tear us apart. Somehow, someway, we would find a way through this. Because that's what families do - they weather the storms together, no matter how fierce the winds or how high the waves.

With renewed determination, I set the table for two, holding onto the hope that someday soon, we might once again be setting it for three.