2

I've been hiding in my room, clutching Lola's toys. I haven't slept in two days and two nights.

I don't dare close my eyes.

Whenever I close my eyes, I see Lola's face.

She'd call me "Mommy" in her sweet, childish voice. When I was sad, she'd lift her little hands and stroke my face over and over.

She'd hide in my arms and try to cheer me up.

She'd give me the sweetest part of the watermelon to eat first.

When she knew I was scared of the thunder during a storm, she'd drag her stuffed bunny onto my bed to sleep with me.

At preschool, all the other kids had their dads with them for sports day.

Nathan Hawthorne never showed up, not even once.

The other kids would chase after her, taunting, "Lola's a kid her daddy doesn't want! Nobody wants her!"

Lola would cry her eyes out, just sobbing miserably.

She'd hide somewhere dark, and when she had cried herself out, she'd greet me with a smile.

She'd wrap her little arms around my neck and nuzzle against me.

She'd say, "Mommy, you work so hard."

But she never once asked me why her dad didn't come for her.

My sweet Lola is gone now.

She'll never be a part of my life again.

The only light in my life has vanished.

It feels like my heart has been ripped open. Every breath I take is painful.

After the fire that day, I asked Nathan Hawthorne for a divorce.

He shot me a glare and barked, "Nonsense."

He dragged me home, called my parents, and then disappeared.

Heh. I know he must have gone to be with Lena Thorne and her daughter.

Before, I might have been hurt. But now...

I looked down at the scar on my wrist.

I did it to myself the day Lola died.

It hurt a lot. I bled so much, but I didn't die.

How ridiculous. A wound heals and leaves a scar.

My heart has been hurt by Nathan Hawthorne so many times that it's already covered in a thick layer of scars. It can't even feel pain anymore.

The light in the dim room was switched on.

It was blinding. I buried my face in my knees, not wanting to face whoever had come in.

"Genevieve Sinclair, have you made enough of a scene?"

Nathan Hawthorne gripped my wrist tightly. My limbs were completely limp, and he easily dragged me up from the floor.

"Heh, not eating or drinking for two days... Genevieve Sinclair, if you want to die, don't do it in my house."

I tilted my head to look at Nathan Hawthorne.

His face was ashen, his gaze ferocious, as if he wanted to flay me alive.

'I just don't understand. If he hates me this much, why won't he let me go?'

"Nathan Hawthorne, let's get a divorce."

I asked for a divorce again. 'I truly wish Nathan Hawthorne would just let me go.'

He squeezed my wrist, his grip so tight it was agonizing. His face darkened as he let out a cold snort.

"You want me to let you go? Dream on."

With that, he dragged me out and threw me onto the sofa.

I was just like Lola's little stuffed bunny, carelessly tossed into a corner.

Nathan Hawthorne didn't even want to look at me.

The elders of the family gathered around me, all starting to talk at once.

"Genevieve, have something to eat. You haven't eaten in days. You've gotten so much thinner."

Mrs. Hawthorne held a bowl of congee to my lips. When I smelled the fishy scent of the slices inside, I turned my head away.

3

"Fine, don't eat then." My mother sat down beside me in a huff, poking me hard on the head.

"You're a grown woman. How can you still be so thoughtless?"

My mother launched into a nonstop lecture.

"Lola is gone, and we're all heartbroken. It's not like you're the only one who's sad."

"Just because she's gone, does that mean the rest of us should just stop living?"

"And you even have the nerve to ask Nathan for a divorce."

My mother, in a gesture of pure frustration, gave my arm another light squeeze.

"Do you have any idea how many women would kill to marry Nathan? Have you lost your mind?"

Mrs. Hawthorne chimed in from the side.

"That's right, Genevieve. You're still young. Once you've recovered, you can have more children."

As she spoke, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

"This time, we'll have a boy. Mr. Hawthorne and I have been wanting a grandson for a long time."

Mrs. Hawthorne looked up and shot my mother a look. The two of them shared a knowing smile.

'How ridiculous.'

When I first married into a wealthy family, the entire Hawthorne clan looked down on me, scorning me.

In their eyes, I was just a social-climbing nobody who had schemed her way to the top.

On my first day in the Hawthorne home, I was already pregnant with Lola.

I stood in the enormous living room while Mrs. Hawthorne sat on a leather sofa, sipping her afternoon tea with her pinky delicately raised.

After a few sips, she slowly set her teacup down on the table.

"You must be Genevieve Sinclair."

She looked up and glanced at me.

I took a deep, nervous breath, tightly clutching the hem of my dress.

I nodded.

Mrs. Hawthorne's disdainful gaze swept over me from head to toe before she scoffed.

"A girl from an ordinary family... so uncouth. Sigh. If it weren't for..."

Her eyes flickered to my stomach, and she swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Mrs. Hawthorne waved her hand dismissively. "You can go rest for now. From now on, you'll be obedient here in the Hawthorne family. Don't interfere in Nathan's affairs."

I never forgot what Mrs. Hawthorne said.

In the five years I've been married to Nathan Hawthorne, I never dared to ask where he was going or what he was doing.

After marrying him, I gave up my greatest passion, painting, to obediently stay home and be Nathan Hawthorne's wife and a good mother to Lola.

In the middle of the night, I would often find myself thinking about my dream.

My dream was to have my own art exhibition.

But the Hawthornes would never let me make a public appearance like that.

I'd feel a surge of resentment at times, but then I would see Lola's adorable little face, and I'd bury those feelings deep inside.

Later, when Lola got a little older,

I would often teach her how to draw at home.

I drew little birds for her, flowers, the blue sky.

Sometimes, I would even draw little stories for her, binding them into small booklets.

Lola would take them to kindergarten to share with her friends.

Before long, my stories became a huge hit at her kindergarten.

Lola would come home and pester me to draw more stories for her. Each time, she would look up at me, her little face beaming, and sweetly take my hand.

"Mommy, you're amazing! All my friends love your drawings and the stories you write."

"You're the most popular mom in kindergarten now."

"Mommy, you're my pride and joy."

She would hug my arm tightly, and my heart would burn with a warmth she ignited.

All the coldness I received from Nathan Hawthorne was melted away by Lola's warmth.

I would hold Lola and sigh to myself.

'It doesn't matter if I never have Nathan Hawthorne's love. As long as I have Lola, I'll be fine.'

But now, sitting on the sofa, I clutched Lola's little stuffed rabbit.

The little rabbit still carried Lola's scent.

But my daughter was never coming back.