Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

News of Quentin being taken away by detectives spread like wildfire through Northborough's upper crust.

Lauren was in the middle of afternoon tea with the other ladies when Mrs. Quinlan suddenly let out a gasp.

"Lauren, isn't this your eldest son?" she exclaimed, turning her phone toward her.

Lauren snatched the phone, her heart pounding. On the screen was a photo of Quentin being escorted away by two detectives. He had draped his coat over his hands, but anyone with half a brain could guess what was hidden underneath— handcuffs.

"This... this can't be!" Lauren stared at Mrs. Quinlan in disbelief. "Where did you get this?"

"From the ladies' group chat, of course!" Mrs. Quinlan replied, retracting her phone with almost gleeful certainty. "The photo's the real deal. Lauren, you'd better hurry home and check on things. Quentin's holding the whole Lockwood family together right now if he's really in trouble, your family is going to be in a world of pain!"

Lauren's face paled. She grabbed her purse and rushed out without another word.

The other women watched her go, their eyes sharp with disdain.

Mrs. Prescott sniffed. "Saul only has Quentin, and now Saul's an invalid. If Quentin ends up behind bars, that'll be the end of the Lockwood family."

Helga gave Mrs. Prescott a sidelong glance, her tone loaded with meaning. "Not so fast. If the Lockwoods fall, that might not be such a good thing for you, either."

"Helga's right," Mrs. Quinlan chimed in. "That Mrs. Lockwood is a piece of work. Word is, before she married into the Lockwoods, she was tangled up with the last heir of the Kensingtons. He died, and she waltzed right into the Lockwoods' arms."

Mrs. Prescott wrinkled her nose. "Some women are just born schemers, always using men to climb up. Seems like every man she's ever gotten close to has met a bad end."

Helga sipped her tea, smirking. "Men only behave themselves when they're six feet under, ladies. So, a word to the wise-keep your wits about you."

...

returned home to find her youngest son, Jason, jangling his car keys

was the hardest

going?" she demanded, stepping in his

date," Jason replied, whistling as he grinned,

tugged his sleeve.

Jason said, eyeing her curiously. "How do you know

Mrs. Prescott sighed, frowning. "Aren't you close with Clarke's youngest?

replied, giving her a look. "Mom, what's gotten into you? Why do you suddenly care about Quentin

a thread with Quentin holding things together.

eyes. "Good riddance! They've always treated Rosita like dirt-if the

almost thirty-when are you going to grow

for my date if I keep

Jason dashed out the door, keys

retreating figure and shook her head with

sight of her husband, Gavin Prescott, coming down the stairs. He was immaculately

her and smiled gently. "You're back? I've got a business dinner tonight, so I won't be home

barely blinked-business dinners were routine. "Just don't drink too much. Try to come home

her shoulder with his usual tenderness

run late, though. Don't

smiled sweetly. "I

a warm smile and

Mrs. Prescott murmured to herself with a