Gripped by fear, Rosella tightened her hold on the umbrella, even her voice trembling.
“I won’t. I’m sorry about the trouble I’ve caused for you. I apologize.”
Her malnourished, frail body was swallowed up in oversized clothes. The wind tugged at her empty pant legs, and her voice faltered. She no longer had the grace of a noble young lady.
How had she become like this?
Back when Rosella was still the noble Ms. Rowe, she was arrogant and unruly. Spoiled by her family, she would yell even at her own brother Dewey. Millard also had to indulge her a bit because of the Rowe family and Dewey. She rampaged around Tolville, stirring up trouble. Everyone feared and disliked her.
But now, just three years later-
Stripped of the Rowe family’s protection and prestige, she lived worse than a stray dog. She even learned how to beg for mercy.
Millard kept his gaze straight ahead as he brushed past Rosella. His tone was flat, but it cut deeper than Dewey’s blunt words, “I’m leaving. I don’t want to contaminate my eyes with something filthy.”
Dewey gave a cold chuckle, then snapped at Rosella, “Why are you still standing there like an idiot? Get inside.”
“O–okay…” Rosella snapped out of her daze and hurried after him.
As she stepped over the threshold, something tripped her. Rosella
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stumbled forward, her chin hitting the floor hard. Pain shot through her.
Ahead of her came Dewey’s snicker. He was laughing at how pathetic and ridiculous she was now.
Dewey’s mother, Mollie Herrera, saw it all.
She sat on the sofa up ahead. Though her heart ached, she held back the impulse to get up and help Rosella.
Rosella dusted off her clothes and pushed herself up on her knees. She didn’t explode with rage at Dewey’s prank. It was as if she couldn’t even feel the pain. In less than three seconds, she was standing upright again, and even apologized softly, “Sorry.”
Dewey hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. The smirk on his face faded, and he snapped, “Idiot. Get in already.”
In all of Tolville, the only person who still remembered and missed Rosella was Mollie.
Rosella walked over and kept her head low, eyelashes drooping slightly. Her tone, just like when she faced Millard, carried a subtle sense of distance. “Mollie.”
Mollie took Rosella’s hand, and tears streamed down her face. She brushed the hair from Rosella’s temple, mumbling, “How did you get so thin?”
Dewey, sitting nearby, sneered, “She’s putting on an act to gain your pity.”
“Dewey!” Mollie scolded him sharply.
Rosella remained calm, with no urge to cry. Her tears had already run dry during the nights she was beaten by her biological father or nearly
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starved and froze to death.
Mollie wiped her tears. “It’s alright. You’re back now. Since your father is gone, just stay here. I’ll still treat you like my own daughter, alright?”
“No…” Rosella gently pulled her hand away. “I’m already very grateful you took me back. I don’t dare to ask for anything more.”
Mollie’s tears fell even harder.
Was this really the same arrogant and unruly girl she once raised? She had expected excitement or complaints about being abandoned for three years, but not this meek and humble reaction.
Mollie pitied her, while Dewey wasn’t buying any of it. He stood up and cut through the sentimental scene. “Mom, are you really going to take in a murderer as your daughter?”
Rosella was assigned a room in the Rowe’s residence. Mollie hadn’t moved anything that belonged to her. The decorations and the layout were just as they had been three years ago.
The room was spacious, and the bed soft. Rosella should’ve been comfortable sinking into it, but instead, she had nightmares. In her dream, slaps landed on her face.
A drunken man swayed toward the closet with a bottle, dragged her out, and smashed the bottle against her.
It hurt.
Glass shards dug into her skin, and the pain woke her up.
Rosella sat up on the bed, surrounded by darkness. She got up, desperate for air. Before she could make it downstairs, she saw a flash of light at the corner of the hallway and heard a mocking voice.
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“She can’t get near you now.” Dewey was sitting at the third–floor bar with a glass of wine, slowly swirling it. “My family has made arrangements for her. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”
