CHAPTER TWELVE
The events of the past few weeks had pushed Cherry Kock to the brink. From the devastating revelation that her son's DNA didn't match that of her husband Steven, to her father-in-law's heartbreak and eventual death, Cherry's world had unraveled. She had clung to a fragile hope—that somehow, things would fall back into place. But then came Rebecca, with her son—a boy who bore a striking resemblance to Steven. That hope, too, shattered.
Cherry lay motionless in her king-sized bed, drenched in thought and misery. For days now, she hadn't left her room, not truly. A maid had brought her breakfast, but she barely noticed. Nothing interested her anymore. She didn't know where to begin or what step to take next. Since the DNA revelation and David's funeral, Steven had become unreachable—living like a familiar stranger. His silence crushed her. His mother hadn't been any better—cold, distant, and quietly blaming Cherry for the old man's death.
Life had come full circle. Cherry knew it was time to do something unusual. But what?
Her phone lit up with a notification—no ringtone, just a soft vibration. She glanced at it, then turned away immediately. She knew who it was. That man. Her biggest mistake.
What did he want this time? Another threat? Another blackmail demand?
He was likely the one who had impregnated her during that last impulsive encounter—back when she had visited him one final time to tell him she was getting married. One thing led to another... and then came the sex, the secrecy, and the silence.
Over the years, he'd used those moments—those leaked videos—as weapons, extorting her for cash whenever he pleased. Cherry had thought about telling her father, letting the shame fall where it may, letting him handle it the brutal way politicians do. But something always held her back. Maybe fear. Maybe pride.
The phone vibrated again. She answered.
"Hi, sweet mama. What's up, baby?" His voice was husky, shaky—like always.
"How may I be of help?" Cherry replied coldly.
"Why so formal, baby? I come in peace."
"Get to the point," she snapped, her tone sharper this time.
"Okay, okay. Since you left me, I've got another baby taking care of me. She's a lab tech at the hospital where your father-in-law kicked the bucket. She told me something about a test conducted on your boy... and the results." He paused. "But hey, I'll stop here. You never wanted to talk about this anyway."
"No! Wait! You can continue!" Cherry cut in desperately.
But it was too late.
The call ended.
Cherry froze, her limbs turning cold. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as fear gripped her. Things were spiraling beyond her control. She grabbed a small pillow from her bed and buried her head into it, hoping to suffocate the chaos in her mind.
For ten long minutes, she didn't move. Her thoughts were blank, her soul heavy. But the weight didn't lift.
Suddenly, like someone bitten by a bedbug, she sprang to her feet and began pacing the room. Then she reached for her phone and dialed twice. No answer.
She returned to the bed, this time folding her legs beneath her, resting her head gently on her knees. Her hair spilled over, veiling her in a curtain of despair—an odd, haunting posture that could make for a tragic photograph.
When no new idea came, she raised her head slowly. Her eyes landed on the wall clock: 2:10 a.m.
Another wave of anxiety washed over her.
All day, she hadn't stepped out of her room—except briefly to attend to the children. She had brushed her teeth but hadn't taken a bath. Perhaps that was why her mother hadn't returned her calls—she must have gone to bed early.
Eventually, she shuffled to the dining room and took her sleeping pills. She was now dependent on them to rest. She'd need a refill soon.
The next morning, her mother called. Cherry didn't answer. Her mother left a message, hoping Cherry would call back.
She didn't.
Later that day, her mother received a call—from the hospital.
Cherry had been rushed in and admitted.
The diagnosis: dangerously high blood pressure. The doctor attributed it to stress, emotional trauma, and mental exhaustion. After administering stabilizing medication, they recommended total rest.
Two days later, Cherry was discharged. Her mother, Mrs. Goldman, convinced her to come home with her. "You need to change your environment. You're too close to the center of gravity," she said.
After initial resistance, Cherry agreed.
The difference between the Kock mansion and her mother's home was mostly size. Both bore the unmistakable elegance of billionaire estates.
As the white Cadillac limo pulled into the sprawling compound, maids lined up to welcome Cherry and her mother. The word had spread: Senator Goldman's stubborn daughter was coming home.
Yes, Cherry had been a rebellious child. A non-conformist. A girl who'd fallen into drugs too young. But she also had a heart of gold—something the staff never forgot.
Her kindness was legendary. She would deny herself comfort to help others. One example still lingered in everyone's memory—the story of Stephanie, a former maid.
Stephanie had left the Senator's household for a new job. Less than a year later, she was diagnosed with leukemia. With high medical bills and no support, she returned, unsure how she'd be received.
But Cherry had embraced her without hesitation.
She paid her hospital bills, brought in caregivers, and personally oversaw her treatment. She even became Stephanie's counselor and emotional lifeline when her fiancé—repulsed by her deteriorating condition—abandoned her.
Stephanie often confided in Cherry, recounting her wedding plans, her love story, and her heartbreak. She'd say, "When I started losing my hair, my skin, and became a ghost of my old self... he slowly faded away too."
In her final days—just months after Cherry's wedding—Stephanie grew weaker. But she never stopped clinging to Cherry.
"She wouldn't eat unless Cherry spoke to her," one maid recalled. "She'd only bathe if Cherry helped her."
Whenever Cherry left the room, Stephanie would beg her to come back soon. "I want you nearby when I finally go," she'd whisper.
On the day she died, the signs were clear—her breathing shallow, her hands trembling. She made the familiar hand signal, calling for Cherry.
When Cherry rushed in, Stephanie whispered, "Hold me. I'm cold... inside."
Cherry held her tightly. With the last of her strength, Stephanie whispered, "I love you, Cherry."
And just like that, she was gone. Her body went still and cold. It was like she'd waited for Cherry—to say goodbye.
So, when the maids lined up that day to greet Cherry, it wasn't just out of duty. It was love. Respect. Gratitude.
Because Cherry Kock, the Senator's daughter, the rebel, the survivor... was also the kindest soul many of them had ever known.