Chapter 1832:


    “Mom — ah! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”


    He had meant to tug at her heart, but the sight of her raised arm made him fold instantly.


    “Where is my child!” Etta screamed, her voice raw with rage.


    “He’s gone. He died ages ago. My dad didn’t just poison him back then — he dumped him in the roughest part of town and left him to survive alone. There’s no way he could have made it,” he said, his face puffed and mangled.


    He had chosen honesty because he simply couldn’t endure the relentless blows anymore. He knew that if he kept his mouth shut, she would keep striking until he broke.


    The moment those words sank in, all the strength drained from Etta’s body. She crumpled to the floor, shaking uncontrobly.


    Dead.


    Her poor child was truly gone — just like that?


    Tears poured down her face without restraint, her heart splintering into pieces. She had feared this truth, yet hearing it spoken aloud was still unbearable. What had her child ever done to deserve such a fate? He had been so tiny. Perhaps he had never even had the chance to truly see the world before he was taken from it — poisoned and cast aside by his own father, condemned to such a wretched end.


    Christina hauled Etta upright and murmured, “Etta, don’t buy a single word they’re peddling. Keep beating them until they cough up where your boy is.” Her tone carried across the room — clear and loud enough that everyone there caught every syble.


    The two men, father and son, their faces puffed and mottled with bruises, gawked at her as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.


    ??????а?????? ????v????? о? ??a????o??е????.??????


    “Y-yes… yes… they’ve got to know,” Etta said, pulling herself together as a surge of strength steadied her legs.


    “Don’t stop, Etta. Hit them harder,” Christina urged, her face set and unyielding.


    The pair were utterly dumbfounded. How could she so brazenly push Etta to keep striking them?


    “Rest assured, Miss Jones. I’ll make them spill it,” Etta answered, stepping forward with grim resolve.


    At the sight of the ferocious look on her face, the father and son were so frightened they nearly lost themselves entirely.


    The earlier blows still throbbed, and if the battering continued, they feared their teeth wouldn’t survive it.


    “I truly don’t know where the child went. You can keep hitting me, but it won’t change a thing,” Etta’s husband said, his eyes zing over as tears threatened to fall.


    “Mom! I’ve called you that for years — please, show some mercy and stop hitting me. Why can’t you just ept that your child is gone?” the younger man wailed.


    .


    .


    .