Where Petals of Vengeance Bloom

Chapter 408

If only she could have stopped chasing after her family's affection, stopped trying so desperately to please them-if she'd fought back, fiercely, whenever they hurt her—maybe, just maybe, her story would have turned out completely different.

In nearly thirty years of life, she was the most remarkable woman I'd ever met. Who wouldn't like someone so wonderfully, heartbreakingly normal?

And that was exactly why the Linwood family seemed so twisted by comparison. She was like a sane person trapped in an asylum, slowly driven mad by the constant torment-every day she spent among them was pure agony.

She spent fifteen long years in an orphanage. Then, after returning to the Linwoods, suffered three more years of humiliation, and later, five years in prison.

In her short twenty-three years, she never knew a single day of real happiness. Not one day free from pain or the shadow of suffering.

Whenever I think of what she endured, it feels as though someone is twisting a knife in my heart.

After she was gone, I wandered through my days like a ghost-I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep.

I'd never fallen apart over anyone like this, not even when my own mother passed away. Back then, I hadn't lost myself the way I did now.

I used to believe that someone as cold-blooded as me would forget her quickly.

But a month passed, and her memory only became more vivid, more deeply etched into my soul. The ache of missing her grew with every passing day.

Standing in the living room, my eyes always drifted-helplessly—to the sofa by the tall windows.

When Claire was alive, she loved to lie there in the sun.

She was so frail that she'd often drift off to sleep, bathed in sunlight.

Her small frame curled up on the cushions made her look even tinier.

almost as if it could shine right

stand there quietly, watching

looking at her brought me a deep, unshakable peace, as though all the chaos of the world

that

been pure torment-like

wondered if I'd ever climb out of this

then, I learned the truth: we had a daughter together. The

intimate thing that ever passed between us was

yet, fate played its cruelest trick- somehow, we

truly known each other, our daughter entered

her Amara, after the word

a reason to

fond of children. But

much like Claire's-or perhaps the instinctive bond between

more

but she was taller,

She

but

her mother's brilliance,

setter fortune-she finished

and stepped into my place at Foster

up, poured

love into her-every drop

éto our daughter.Onteed. I

only there