Chapter 7

"You almost killed Sandra, Emma. How can you just sleep right now?"

Emma lifted her head and saw Adam's eyes blazing with anger. Next to him, Jamie looked down, crying her eyes out.

Jamie's voice was choked up, and tears streamed down her face. "Sandra doesn't have much time left, Em. Why won't you just leave her alone? We moved past what happened at the farewell gathering, but you were literally trying to take her life."

Emma clenched her fist, nails digging deep into the flesh of her palm. She was sick of Jamie's phony act.

Struggling to stand up, she spat out the words, "I didn't write those words at the farewell gathering, and I didn't push her off the cliff. You let Sandra set me up again and again. How do you think this is going to end for you?"

A stinging slap landed on her cheek. She staggered backward, tasting blood in her mouth.

Adam trembled with rage. "You little brat! That is exactly what Helena used to do. She always blames everyone else, and now you're doing it too."

Jamie patted Adam on the back. "Take it easy, Adam. This is on me. I didn't raise her right—"

Adam cut Jamie off sharply, his eyes locked on Emma, "It's not your fault."

He continued, "Since you're so full of yourself, you're no longer my daughter."

After saying his piece, Adam stormed out with Jamie, slamming the door behind him.

Right then, lightning tore across the sky, and the rain started pouring down.

Emma fell to the floor in a heap. She wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in her arms, and wept without making a sound.

In her daze, she could almost hear Helena's final words again.

She felt a weak but firm grip on her hand. The words came out in a faint whisper, yet they were unmistakable. "Take care of yourself out there, Em. I'll be watching you from the stars."

All these years, she had pushed herself to eat properly and get to bed on time. She just wanted to prove to Helena that she could thrive without Adam's love. But where did that get her?

Emma murmured under her breath, her tears soaking through the fabric of her pants at the knees, "I must be such a disappointment to you now, Mom."

Outside, the storm kept raging. She curled up in her own arms and cried herself to sleep.

…

When Emma woke up, she found herself on the couch in the living room. She had no idea how she got here.

The fire crackled in the fireplace. Wesley sat beside it, holding a cigarette between his fingers. A haze of smoke drifted up from it.

Her voice was faint and raspy, her throat raw with pain. "Wesley."

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head. The gentle look he used to have was replaced by a cold one. "You're awake."

She tried to sit up, but she didn't have any strength left. "How did I get here?"

Wesley didn't respond to her question. Instead, he said calmly, "I was on my way to pick you up yesterday, but Sandra's exhibit went up in flames. Every single one of her paintings is gone."

Emma's heart sank. She realized what he was implying and quickly explained, "I didn't set the fire. I had nothing to do with any of it. Just look into it—"

He cut her off softly, but his gaze was so cold and distant that it scared her. "Sandra's biggest dream was to be a painter, Emma. Those paintings meant everything to her. There's no way she would destroy her own work."

Her hands started shaking. "What are you trying to say?"

Wesley stood up, looming over Emma with a disapproving look. "I haven't told Adam or Sandra that it was you. But you're not getting away from this. It's time you learned how it feels to have something you care about destroyed."

Only then did she realize that he was holding the doll Helena had made for her before she died.

He clenched his fist slowly, crushing the doll in his palm. "I know how much this means to you. How much would it tear you apart if I just destroyed it?"

She scrambled off the couch, lunging toward him. "No!"

Helena had made this doll for Emma when she was ten, stitching it together by hand while she was sick.

Even though Helena was too sick to hold the needle properly, she insisted on finishing it. In her final moments, she pressed it into Emma's hands and murmured, "I won't be around to watch you grow up, Em. Look at this doll whenever you want to feel close to me."

Later on, Emma secretly stitched Helena's cremation jewelry into the doll. She slept holding it every night, clinging to it through one difficult night after another.

But now, Wesley actually wanted to destroy it.

He snapped, "I promised you everything would return to normal after Sandra left. You're the one misbehaving."

With that, he raised his hand and threw the doll into the fireplace. A heartbroken scream tore from her throat as she scrambled toward the flames. "No!"

She plunged her arms into the fire, ignoring the searing pain as she desperately reached for the burning doll. She trembled as she clutched the ruined doll to her chest, her tears soaking into the burned cloth.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Wesley passed by and left the room without looking back.

She spent the whole night sobbing over the doll.

…

Early the next morning, Emma walked out of the villa, clutching the charred doll and pulling her suitcase behind her. She was almost at the gate when Sandra wheeled into her path, blocking her way.

She rasped out, "Get out of my way."

Sandra sneered. "Why are you so upset, Em? After you leave, I doubt we'll get another chance to meet. Adam and Wesley are convinced that you're heartless. They'll never let you come back home."

Emma looked up coldly. "Good. That's exactly what I want. Besides, you'll be dead soon. We won't be seeing each other again."

Hearing that, Sandra burst out laughing. "You actually bought the story that I was dying, Emma?"

Without warning, she rose from her wheelchair and started walking toward Emma. "That was all just a trick to fool Wesley. When I revealed that it was a misdiagnosis, he'll be overjoyed."

She leaned closer to Emma's ear. "Do you want to hear a secret? Your marriage certificate with Wesley is fake. I'm his legal spouse."

She dropped that bombshell and waited for Emma to crack, but things didn't play out the way she wanted.

Emma's knuckles turned white as she clutched the handle of her suitcase, but her face remained calm. "Then I wish you both all the happiness in the world."

After saying that, she turned and walked out of the gate without looking back.

Standing at the curb, Emma was waiting for a taxi when Wesley's black sedan pulled up slowly beside her. He rolled down the window and asked, "Are you leaving?"

She hummed in acknowledgment.

His tone was solemn. "Maybe we should just take a break to cool off. When you come back, we can finally sit down and work this out."

She didn't respond and got in the taxi without saying anything.

Seeing his car pull away, she thought to herself, "You're going to regret treating me like this once you find out the truth, Wesley."

When the taxi took off, Emma took one last look at the villa that had witnessed all her joy and pain. Her expression was now utterly lifeless.

She looked away and muttered, "Take me to the airport."

The two cars headed in opposite directions, mirroring how their lives would never cross paths again.