Blurb：
When Audra Collier discovers her husband Walter's hidden stroke diagnosis, she secretly buys Veridian Prime supplements to save his health - only to be thrown out by Walter and ungrateful son Dylan. Disowned and diagnosed-as-burden, Audra unleashes fury using her inheritance money to build "The Daily Grind" coffee shop empire while exposing Walter's illness and Dylan's toxic greed.
This explosive saga of family betrayal reveals Brielle's secret alliance with Audra against manipulative Dylan. Watch Walter's health collapse, Dylan's wedding plans implode, and Audra's wrath unfold as she weaponizes their lies about pyramid scheme supplements, medical bills, and coffee shop revenge.
Dark humor meets female empowerment as the Strokes of Fate trilogy explores generational warfare - paralyzed fathers vs entrepreneurial mothers, snake-oil cures vs real grit. Will Brielle escape Dylan's inheritance traps? Can Walter survive his own hypocritical advice about burden parents? Discover why Veridian Prime hides more toxins than this broken family.
Content：
§01What is this crap, Audra? Rabbit food?
Walter’s fork scraped against the porcelain plate, a sound like a nail on a coffin.
He shoved the grilled chicken and quinoa salad away with a look of utter disgust.
Our son, Dylan, sitting across from him, mirrored the expression perfectly.
He pushed his own plate back, the untouched food a silent accusation.
"Seriously, Mom. I have a long shift tomorrow. I need actual food, not… this."
The centerpiece of their contempt, however, wasn't the healthy dinner I had spent an hour preparing.
It was the bottle of supplements I’d placed by Walter’s plate.
Veridian Prime.
The label gleamed under the dining room light, a promise of vitality in a sleek, green bottle.
A promise I had bought into.
For him.
"I found out about your physical, Walter," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
His head snapped up.
Shock, then a flicker of fear, then pure, unadulterated rage.
"You went through my things?"
"The results were on your desk. A minor stroke. They called it a warning shot."
I was afraid the stress would make it worse, so I hadn't told him.
Instead, I bought the supplements, the ones Brenda from my yoga class swore had cured her husband's sciatica.
I bought the healthy cookbooks.
I was trying to save him.
But they saw it as an attack.
Dylan picked up the bottle, turning it over in his hands. He pulled out his phone, his thumb a blur across the screen.
"Mom, you didn't," he groaned, a theatrical sound of despair. "I just Googled this. It's a pyramid scheme. People who get strokes take blood thinners, not this overpriced snake oil."
I flinched.
I’d forgotten to peel off the price tag.
Seventy-eight dollars a bottle.
Walter’s eyes locked onto the price, and his face turned a mottled shade of red.
He slammed his fist on the table, the silverware jumping in protest.
"How could you be so selfish?" he roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You’ve been a housewife your whole damn life, living off my sweat. You've had it easy. And now, when we should be saving for Dylan’s wedding, you get yourself a rich person's disease and start throwing my money away on this garbage?"
The words hit me like a physical blow.
A housewife. Had it easy.
"Now you listen to me," he snarled, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss. "You take this crap back tomorrow and get a full refund. You do that, or we're getting a divorce."
I stared at him, my husband of over twenty years, the man I had built a life with.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
It was Dylan who delivered the final, crushing blow.
He pulled a debit card from his wallet and threw it on the table.
It skidded across the wood and stopped in front of me.
My debit card.
The one holding the money from the sale of my mother’s bungalow in Florida.
The money she had told me to keep for myself, my safety net for old age.
My inheritance, which I had just offered to Dylan for a down payment on a house with his fiancée, Brielle.
"Having me? That was your choice," Dylan said, his voice dripping with a cold, rehearsed logic. "Raising me? That was your legal obligation. But setting me up for success, truly *investing* in my future? That’s how you earn gratitude."
He gestured at my untouched plate, at the bottle of Veridian Prime.
"And right now," he continued, his eyes devoid of any warmth, "all you're doing is cashing out your own retirement fund at my expense. Take this back. Use it for your… condition. Whatever you can afford is what you get. But don't you dare ask me for a single cent."
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The End