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He Chose His Mistress Over Our Daughter Novel Cover

He Chose His Mistress Over Our Daughter

After her daughter leaps to her death from a window, a devastated mother learns the horrifying truth from the police. While being hunted and assaulted by thugs less than two kilometers from his law firm, the young girl begged her father, Barnaby Farley, for help three times. Barnaby ignored every desperate call, choosing instead to drive his assistant home. After dismissing his dying child's final plea as a mere work distraction, his marriage and family are shattered beyond repair.
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Chapter 1

On the day my daughter was assaulted, she called Barnaby Farley three times.

The first time, she told him some thugs were following her, that she was scared.

She asked if he could come pick her up.

Barnaby ignored it.

The second time, she said they were almost on her.

She asked if he could think of something, anything to help.

Barnaby ignored that too.

The third time, her voice was ragged.

"Dad, someone's hurting me. Can you please help me?"

That time, he sent back a single line.

"Don't bother me while I'm working."

The daughter who read that reply jumped from the window.

I only learned all of this when the police found me.

The scene was less than two kilometers from Barnaby's law firm.

But he was busy driving his little assistant home, ignoring his own daughter's cries for help, again and again and again.

Today, they won their case.

And whatever was left between us finally reached its end.

——

In her hospital bed, Faye Abbott looked like a terrified fawn.

Even footsteps passing in the hall set her whole body trembling.

Watching her like that, I couldn't hold back the grief and fury surging inside me.

I gritted my teeth and stormed into Barnaby's office.

"Barnaby, Faye called you last night. Why didn't you answer?"

A muscle twitched between his brows.

But he still forced reason down over the anger underneath.

"Cora Henson, watch yourself."

"This is my office. It's not somewhere you get to throw a fit."

I grabbed the tie at his chest and forced his head up.

"I don't want to hear your high-minded speeches. I just want to know why you didn't answer when Faye called you last night!"

"Someone hurt her... she was hurt last night, do you understand that!"

His brow stayed knotted.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"We live in a society with laws. If something happens, you go to the police, you file a complaint. You don't interrupt me during working hours."

"Fine, Faye's young and doesn't know better. But you're her mother. Are you really this senseless too?"

The Barnaby who once gave up his own dream and switched to law, all to fight my case.

That same man now thought a mother demanding justice for her daughter was just making a scene.

He let out an irritated sigh.

Then he tapped his watch and, without a word, showed me the door.

I went back to the hospital with no choice, and my sleeping daughter suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide with terror.

When she saw it was me, the tears came pouring out.

"Mom... I'm so scared. What happened last night, I'm so scared..."

Her nails dug into my skin, but it was nothing next to the ache in my heart.

I held her tight against me and stroked her back over and over.

"It's okay. Mom's here. Mom will protect you."

I don't know which word touched the memory that hurt her.

She suddenly started screaming again.

She curled into the corner, shaking her head without stopping.

"You can't, Mom. Those people are strong, they have powerful connections. You can't protect me."

Then she gripped my hand hard.

"Mom, can you not tell Dad about this?"

"I don't want to disappoint him..."

That was what she said.

But I knew she was hoping Barnaby would step forward and stand up for her.

Her lawyer father had always been the invincible pride of her heart.

It was just that this time, Barnaby was the one who let her down.

I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth.

Once I'd coaxed her back to sleep, I went to the police station alone.

The officer handling the case was very patient.

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