Author Margaret Way Novels & Stories

His mother's words were ambiguous, but she was not like this before. Margaret got down from the car, stretched, and kneaded her waist with one hand. She said smilingly, "You? When have you accompanied me all these years? Now you’re saying you want to accompany me?" Her words embarrassed Ralph since he typically liked to play around. He would coax his mother with sweet words and occasionally buy little trinkets to make her happy. He figured Margaret loved listening to him talk and liked everything he bought anyway. However, he disliked accompanying women while they shopped, no matter how old they were.

The man who sent six-word texts and treated me like a transaction. “You don’t believe me,” Margaret said, watching me closely. “But I’ve known him since he was a boy. And I can tell you — there’s more to him than most people see.” I didn’t know how to respond to that. “Sometimes,” she continued gently, “people like him… they just need to be loved right.” My chest tightened. “Margaret—” “I’m just saying,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You’re good for him. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Let’s leave them alone for a while, shall we?” Margaret’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Sure. Besides, I planted a little gadget in their home to notify me if there was trouble amiss.” Freya tossed her head back in full bellied laughter. “I did the same.” They laughed and hugged each other before getting serious again. “Do you want me to help you dispose of Louella?” Margaret asked. “I reserve that pleasure for myself, thanks.” “I know she was a wicked thing, but you seem to have a deep rooted hate for her that goes beyond what she’s done,” Margaret mused aloud.

Bella POV Margaret looked between us, her gift bag hanging limp from her fingers now, and for the first time she looked less like a woman making a social call and more like what she actually was — a woman who had bet on the wrong daughter and was only now beginning to understand the full cost of it. She left without another word, her heels clicking against the pavement, her spine perfectly straight all the way to her car, because Margaret Hart would not give anyone the satisfaction of watching her crumble in a daycare parking lot.

Bridgette’s POV Margaret was a beautiful woman—she was tall, long-legged, and tightly proportioned. She looked as though she hadn't aged a day past forty, and when she smiled, like she was doing now, she looked way younger. It almost took my breath away. "Aaron has been a blessing, honestly. He's like the rainbow after a storm, you know. I didn't think I'd get a second chance, but I did," she answered, reaching out to hold me.

She stepped into the room with her hands on her hips and looked around, clicking her tongue. “My, you’re just as troublesome as I remember,” she cooed. “You were always a stubborn little brat.” “What did you do to Julie?” I ground out. Margaret simply shrugged. “What should have been done long ago. That bitch has been a thorn in my side for years.” “A thorn in your side?” I scoffed. “What, because she tried to stop you from using black magic?” “Precisely.” Margaret’s lips curved. “You’re only nearly as stupid as you look, I guess.”

My relationship with my daughter had been shattered and painstakingly rebuilt. But sitting on Robert's porch, thinking about Lyra's glowing face when she talked about the future, about students who valued honest teaching over perfect credentials, about a woman named Sarah who was watching her daughters grow up because of treatment I'd provided, I realized something fundamental had shifted. Margaret had spent her life trying to cure death. Now she was finally learning to live with life…..

Margaret appeared beside me, her eyes fixed on the scene through the doorway. “Interesting,” she murmured. I glanced at her. “What?” “Nothing,” she shook her head. Her tone made my shoulders tense and I turned fully to her. “Is there a problem?” Margaret’s gaze drifted back to Zane and Elara. The woman was still crying against him and holding on like he was the only solid thing in her world. “I think,” Margaret started, “that the Alpha might be involved with that woman.” She had just voiced out my exact inner thoughts.

The letter arrived a month after Margaret's funeral, in an envelope that smelled faintly of lavender. Victoria recognized the handwriting immediately—Margaret's, elegant and steady, even at the end. The paper was thick and cream-colored, the kind Margaret had always favored for her personal correspondence. "My dearest Victoria,

"She’s just like Laura. She looks like her, acts like her… She sells her body for money, just like her." I hadn’t meant to say that. I didn’t owe Margret an explanation. But she always had a way of getting things out of me. "Elizabeth?" Margret gasped before shaking her head. "She is nothing like Laura, and you must be blind to think she looks anything like that witch you married." Margret had hated Laura from the moment they met. "She does," I countered. Margret folded her arms, shaking her head. "Elizabeth does not look anything like Laura." She just liked to argue with me.