The Womanizer's Mute Wife-Chapter 236: Protecting What’s Left

Revelation leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed tight, watching Genesis stir the pot of chicken noodle soup with slow, careful motions. The kitchen smelled warm—garlic, thyme, broth simmering over low heat—but the air between the two women felt colder than the tiles beneath their feet.

The Angels moved quietly around them. Joy chopped carrots at the far counter. Katherine poured soup into a thermos for the hospital run. Mia wiped down already spotless surfaces. None of them spoke. They knew better than to interrupt when Revelation was trying—and failing—to bridge the chasm she’d helped create.

"How long are you going to keep ignoring me and giving me the silent treatment?" Revelation asked, her voice low but edged with frustration. "I’ve told you I’m sorry. I’ve said it a hundred times. I mean it."

Genesis didn’t look up. She kept stirring, the wooden spoon tracing soft, rhythmic circles through the broth. Her face was calm. Blank.

Revelation pushed off the island and stepped closer. "When are you going to forgive me, Genesis? Or at least talk to me like I’m not the enemy?"

Genesis shrugged one shoulder, still focused on the pot. "Maybe now. Maybe never."

Revelation let out a sharp exhale—half laugh, half sigh. "That’s not fair."

Genesis finally lifted her eyes. They were flat, stripped of any amusement. "Fair stopped being part of my vocabulary fifteen years ago."

Revelation’s jaw tightened. She glanced at the Angels, who suddenly found their tasks very interesting, then back at her twin. "Mom has been asking to see you. Every day. She wants to explain. She wants to hold you. She’s been crying herself to sleep, Genesis. She wants her daughter back."

Genesis stiffened. The spoon stilled in her hand.

"I have no mother," she said quietly. "And I have no sister."

Revelation’s voice rose despite herself. "That’s bullshit, and you know it. Mom did nothing wrong. Monica tried to kill her—tried to kill all three of us. She set that fire in the hospital the night we were born. Mom barely got out with me. She thought you were dead. She mourned you every single day."

Genesis set the spoon down with careful precision. "I know the story. You’ve told me already. The fire. The running. The new name—Red. The Mexican cartel queen who crawled back to her mafia father for protection. She made it look like Delores Sanchez and her baby died in the blaze so Monica and whoever else was left would stop hunting. I get it. Survival. I don’t blame her for running."

Revelation stepped closer, desperation bleeding into her voice. "Then why won’t you see her? Why won’t you let her explain?"

Genesis turned fully now, eyes hard. "Because after she ran—after she survived—she stayed gone. Years. Decades. Even after Dad died. Even after Monica took everything. The house. The money. The freedom. Even after the beatings started. The starvation. The locked rooms. The nights I was dragged to that doctor’s office and came home drugged and empty. She could have come back. She had power. Money. Men. She could have come for me."

Revelation’s voice cracked. "She didn’t know at first, Genesis. For the first couple of years after the fire, she truly believed you were gone. She mourned you every single day. She hid, rebuilt under a new name, thinking Monica had won. She had no idea you survived."

Genesis’s grip tightened around the spoon, knuckles whitening. She stared into the pot, shoulders rigid.

Revelation took a shaky breath and pressed on. "But when you were six... she found out."

Genesis looked up slowly, guarded.

Revelation’s eyes filled. "She had people watching from a distance. Old contacts. She saw pictures of Anthony’s new family after he married Monica. At first, she thought Monica had given him a child of her own. But then she saw you. Really saw you. The way your eyes tilt like mine. The shape of your mouth when you smiled in those rare school photos. She knew. In her bones, she knew you were hers."

Genesis’s breath hitched—just once.

"She wanted to come for you," Revelation whispered. "God, she wanted to storm that house and take you. But she was being hunted by her father’s enemies again. And if she’d shown up, even with an army, Monica would’ve used you as a shield. Or worse. Mom knew what Monica was capable of. She’d already tried to burn us alive once."

"Stop." Genesis’s voice was steel. "Don’t make excuses. I was a child. Alone. And I needed someone—anyone—to come for me. She didn’t."

The broth bubbled softly, the only sound in the kitchen.

"Do you know why you went mute?" Genesis asked suddenly.

Revelation shook her head slowly, eyes wide. "No."

Genesis turned fully, her gaze steady and unflinching. "Dad’s accident. The car flipped. He died on impact. I was upside down, hanging by the seatbelt, blood in my eyes, screaming until my throat burned raw. When they pulled me out, I was alive. Barely."

She paused.

"They patched me up. Sent me home. Monica was waiting. She didn’t hug me. Didn’t ask if I was okay. She took my toys. Every single one. My books. My clothes. My favorite blanket that still smelled like Dad. Then she stood in my doorway and screamed that I killed him. That if I hadn’t cried for ice cream that night, he wouldn’t have been driving. That every word out of my mouth was a curse. That if I ever spoke again, someone else would die."

Genesis swallowed. "I was six. I believed her."

Revelation’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears spilled instantly. "Genesis..."

"She locked me in my room for days," Genesis continued. "Sometimes with no food. She told me silence was the only way to keep people safe. So I stopped talking. I was terrified that if I opened my mouth, everyone I loved would die too. And every time I tried to whisper—even to myself—she made sure I paid for it."

Her voice didn’t shake.

"The mute thing? It wasn’t the crash. It was her. She broke my voice on purpose."

Revelation sobbed openly now. "I didn’t know... I swear I didn’t know it was that bad. Mom didn’t either. Not the details."

Genesis let out a small, bitter laugh. "She knew enough."

Revelation stepped forward. "She was terrified for you. If she’d come too soon—"

"Stop." Genesis’s voice cracked, thin as ice. "Don’t defend her with the same excuses you’ve been fed. She had power. Money. She could have ended Monica years ago. Instead, she waited until I didn’t need saving anymore. Until I’d already learned how to survive in silence."

Revelation reached out, fingers trembling. "She loves you. She’s been dying inside—"

Genesis flinched away. "Love doesn’t watch from the shadows while a child is tortured. Love doesn’t wait until the damage is permanent."

Revelation broke. "Then hate her. Hate me. But don’t shut us out forever. Please."

Genesis looked at her. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but they didn’t fall.

"I’m not shutting anyone out," she said quietly, a faint smile touching her lips. "I’m just protecting what’s left of me. Kieran’s awake. He can’t talk long—his throat’s still raw—but he’s conscious. He squeezed my hand this morning like he knew I was there. That’s what matters right now."

Revelation wiped her face. "Can I come to the hospital? Just sit in the waiting room. I won’t ask for anything else."

Genesis considered it.

Finally, she sighed. "You can come. But don’t talk about her. Not today."

Revelation nodded quickly, relief flooding her face. "Okay. Thank you."

"I don’t hate you," Genesis added softly. "I just... don’t know you yet."

Revelation managed a small, broken smile. "Then let me stay until you do."

Genesis didn’t answer.

But she didn’t say no.

She ladled the soup into another thermos with steady hands, screwed the lid tight, wiped her palms on a dish towel, and turned toward the door.

Revelation followed a step behind—hopeful, silent.

In the hallway, Genesis paused, hand on the knob.

"Revelation?"

"Yeah?"

"When he wakes up enough to really talk... I’ll tell him everything. The fire. Mom. Why I can’t forgive yet. And if he still looks at me like I’m worth something after that—after I did that to him..."

She glanced back, eyes glistening but steady.

"...then maybe I’ll think about meeting her one day. Not because she deserves it. Only because I might want to."

Revelation’s breath caught.

Genesis opened the door.

Late-afternoon sunlight poured in, bright and merciless.

She stepped into it, head held high, thermos in hand—Revelation trailing behind like a shadow finally allowed to follow.