After hanging up the phone, Clara began packing. She carefully placed her old trophies and dance shoes into her suitcase, then threw away all the loose, oversized clothes in her closet. For seven years, she had given up her dreams for her family, sacrificed herself for her children, only to be met with disdain and betrayal in return. Now, she was going to live for herself.

Halfway through tidying up, there was a knock on the door, and Liam walked in. He saw the trophy in the box, paused for a moment, and asked in confusion, "What's this? When did you get something like this?"

Clara looked at him and suddenly felt incredibly ironic. He had actually forgotten that this was her proudest achievement, something he had once held dear and flaunted to everyone. She didn't answer, only saying lightly, "Nothing, just some useless old stuff."

Liam didn't ask any more questions. His gaze fell on her packed luggage, and he frowned: "Where are you going?"

" Just tidying up some old things that I don't need anymore ," Clara said calmly .

"Liam, come here for a second... " Vanessa's voice called from outside. Liam didn't ask me again, turned around and went out the door.

I watched Liam 's departing figure and gave a self-deprecating smile.

The door was gently pushed open, and Lila tiptoed in, carrying a glass of milk.

“It was wrong of you to disturb my piano practice today.” Lila raised her chin slightly, her tone carrying an arrogance beyond her years, much like how Liam spoke to her. “Drink this, and I will forgive you.”

She turned her head and handed over the milk, but deliberately avoided looking at Clara's face, as if looking at her for even a second would offend her eyes.

Clara's fingers tightened slightly as she gripped her phone, a bitter feeling rising in her heart.

She remembered that when Lila was three years old, she would run over with milk in the same way, only then the child would softly call "Mommy feed me," rest her chin on her knees, stare into her eyes and say "Mommy is the prettiest."

But now, the little dumpling who used to cling to her has become the one who hates her the most.

She wanted to refuse, but then she thought of her three-year-old daughter and that this might be the last time she would drink milk poured by her daughter, so she eventually took the cup.

The milk was slightly cool to the taste, with a strange, cloying sweetness. Clara frowned, but still forced herself to drink it down.

She thought that even if it was the last time, she wanted to preserve some of the warmth between mother and daughter.

That night, Clara was trapped in a hazy, half-awake state.

The bedroom door wasn't closed properly, and Liam's voice, mixed with suggestive breathing, drifted in, clear as if right next to his ear: "That waist... it's so damn thin... Teacher Vanessa, you're even more alluring than when she wore a dance dress back in the day..." This was followed by the rhythmic rustling of fabric and Vanessa's soft, sweet laughter: "Mr. Liam, be gentle... Lila's still in the next room..."

Clara spent a chaotic night, unsure whether it was a dream or reality. Her heart felt like it had been struck by a heavy hammer, the pain almost suffocating her.

She vaguely remembered that seven years ago, Liam had whispered the same thing in her ear, saying that her waist when she danced Swan Lake was "God's masterpiece" and that he would give her the best things in the world.

But now, his sweet words are given to someone else, his tenderness to someone else, and even the desire he once showed only to her has become a knife stabbing her.

The next afternoon, Clara was woken up by her cell phone ringing.

A strong wave of dizziness washed over her. She propped herself up on the headboard, her head feeling heavy as if it were filled with lead. She raised her hand to touch her forehead, and the burning heat made her heart clench.

I turned on my phone, and the screen showed 3 PM.

Married for seven years, she has been getting up at six o'clock every day to make breakfast in order to take care of Lila, and has never slept for so long. Even when her wound became infected after giving birth to Lila, she forced herself to get up and breastfeed the baby. Now she is sleeping so soundly, which is unusual and makes people uneasy.

"Awake?" Liam's voice came from the other end of the phone, with Vanessa's laughter and Lila's chatter in the background. "You said you were tired last night, so I didn't wake you and let you sleep a little longer." His tone was perfunctory concern, as if he were talking to an unimportant servant.

"I'll go to the kitchen tonight to prepare a few dishes. Lila and I will come back to eat, and Vanessa will also be there."

Clara rubbed her throbbing temples, her voice hoarse: "I don't remember having a piano lesson today, why did she come?"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by Vanessa's sweet voice: "Mr. Liam, Lila said she wants to play hide-and-seek with us. If Clara isn't happy about it, I won't go..." The grievance in her voice was like a fine needle, precisely stirring up Liam's emotions.

Liam's patience ran out instantly, and her tone became impatient: "Just prepare when I tell you to, why all this nonsense? Lila wants Vanessa to come, can't you, as her mother, just go along with her? We'll talk about the rest when we get home."

Before Clara could utter another word, the phone was abruptly hung up. The busy tone rang, as if mocking her unrequited love. Clara slowly got up and walked to the mirror—the woman in the mirror had a puffy face, dark circles under her eyes, and loose loungewear clung to her body like a thick layer of cotton. She raised her hand and pinched her arm; it was all soft fat, and the firm muscle lines she used to have when she was a dancer were nowhere to be found.

"Let's just consider this one last meal for them before I leave." Clara sighed at her reflection in the mirror, her fingertips tracing the water stains on the surface, as if caressing the shattered past.

As evening fell, the front door opened. Liam led Lila in, Vanessa linked arms with him, and the three of them walked in, chatting and laughing. Vanessa held a drawing in her hand, a "family portrait" drawn by Lila—it included her father, Vanessa, and herself in a princess dress, but Clara was nowhere to be seen. Liam took the drawing, smiled, and ruffled Lila's hair: "Our Lila drew so well, even better than her kindergarten teacher."

The scene was too jarring. Clara stood in the kitchen doorway, feeling like an intruder. The table was already set with dishes: spicy chicken, boiled fish, and Mapo tofu—all the spicy dishes that Liam and Lila loved. Over the years, to cater to their tastes, Clara had forced herself to transform from a girl from Jiangnan who couldn't eat spicy food into someone who couldn't live without chili peppers at every meal. Stomach medicine was always kept in the table drawer, but they had never asked her, "Does your stomach still hurt?"

"Wow! It smells so good!" Lila sniffed exaggeratedly, and before everyone could sit down, she eagerly picked up her chopsticks and grabbed a piece of spicy chicken.

Vanessa suddenly teared up, covered her mouth, and coughed softly, her chopsticks hovering in mid-air, unwilling to move. Liam immediately put down his cup and anxiously felt her forehead: "What's wrong? Did you choke on the chili?"

“I…I’m currently controlling my sugar and oil intake, so I can’t eat anything too oily or spicy…” Vanessa’s voice trembled with tears, which streamed down her face like a broken string of pearls. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t explain things clearly to Aunt Su beforehand, and she did all that work for nothing…”

Liam's gaze instantly turned cold as he glared at Clara: "Clara, didn't I tell you that Vanessa needs to maintain her figure? I asked you to cook healthier dishes, can't you understand human language? So many chili peppers, are you trying to kill her?"

Lila's face fell, and she slammed her chopsticks on the table, yelling at Clara, "Teacher Vanessa doesn't eat spicy food! Why did you make so many spicy dishes? You bad woman!" She pointed to the kitchen and ordered imperiously, "Teacher Vanessa loves seafood, go and make it for her again! Steamed shrimp, garlic scallops, and cream of mushroom soup!"

Clara stood rooted to the spot, her body ice-cold. Liam and Lila both knew she was allergic to seafood—three years ago, she accidentally ate a shrimp, her throat swelled up instantly, and she nearly choked. Liam had even frowned and said, "How could you be so careless?" But now, they had completely forgotten. She remembered how she hadn't touched spicy or greasy food for three years to practice dancing, and now she was sacrificing herself for them, only to receive nothing in return, not even a simple "Remember you can't eat spicy food."

“This is too much trouble for Clara…” Vanessa tugged at Liam’s sleeve feigning concern, but a smug smile lurked in her eyes. “Actually, I’ll just have some plain porridge…”

"No!" Lila interrupted her, slamming her little hand on the table. "Teacher Vanessa can't eat this awful stuff! That fat bastard does nothing all day, not even a proper meal. What else can she possibly do!"

The words "fat bastard" hit Clara like a hammer blow, making her vision blur. She trembled with rage, grabbed the chopsticks from the table, and slammed them to the floor: "Why should I redo it? I've had enough of this!"

The chopsticks fell to the floor with a crisp sound. Liam's face darkened. He stood up and walked over to her, his tone authoritative and leaving no room for argument: "Clara, can't you be a little more sensible? Lila is still young, and Vanessa is a guest. How can you be less reasonable than a child?"

With Liam backing her up, Lila seemed to have been set ablaze. She rushed to the dining table, her little hands sweeping haphazardly across the plates—with a "crash," the entire table of food was swept to the floor. Red chili oil splattered onto Clara's arm, the scalding heat sending a burning sensation through her. She instinctively pulled her hand away, only to see Liam immediately shield Vanessa behind him, as if afraid the oil would splash onto her.

"Your cooking is awful! And you won't let Teacher Vanessa eat! You bad woman!" Lila shouted, jumping up and down, her little face full of disgust. "I put sleeping pills in your milk! That way Teacher Vanessa can go to kindergarten and be my mom! All the classmates say Teacher Vanessa is beautiful and gentle, she's like my mom! Unlike you, you only deserve to be an ugly, fat maid at home!"

The words "sleeping pills" struck Clara like a thunderbolt, leaving her frozen in place. She finally understood why she had slept for so long, and why she had woken up with a splitting headache—that glass of milk wasn't a "gift of forgiveness" at all, but a tool her daughter had used to scheme against her! She turned to Liam in disbelief, her voice trembling, "What did Lila just say? You know?"

A flicker of panic crossed Liam's eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. He reached out to pull Clara's arm, his tone casually indulgent: "There's a parent-child activity at kindergarten today. If you go looking like this, the other kids will laugh at Lila. Your daughter has self-esteem too. You're her mother, you certainly won't hold a grudge over something like this." He paused, as if bestowing some favor: "However, it was definitely wrong of her to give you sleeping pills. I've already criticized her, so please don't dwell on it."

"You criticized her?" Clara felt a wave of suffocation. Looking at Liam's familiar face, she suddenly felt utterly alienated. "Liam, is this how you raise your daughter? Teaching her to use sleeping pills to scheme against her own mother? What's wrong with my appearance? I only became like this because I developed hormonal imbalance after giving birth to her!"

Seven years of forbearance, grievances, and resentment erupted completely at this moment. Clara grabbed the remaining dishes on the table and smashed them on the ground—"Smash!" Ceramic shards flew everywhere, and soup splashed onto Liam's suit pants, leaving a messy stain.

"Clara, what's wrong with you!" Liam's gaze was as cold as ice. "Lila is still young and doesn't understand things. Can't you be a little more tolerant? Besides, Teacher Vanessa is right here. Don't be unreasonable!"

"Nonsense?" Clara laughed angrily, tears finally streaming down her face, her voice trembling with rage. "Fine, I'll leave! I'll leave right now and never get in your way again!"

Unable to bear the suffocating place any longer, she stumbled out of the restaurant, even forgetting her suitcase in the entryway. In the garden behind the manor, a cool evening breeze blew, but it couldn't dispel the excruciating pain and nausea in her chest. Clara sat in the veranda, looking at the withered roses outside—the roses she had planted herself, the ones Liam used to water every day, saying, "The roses must be worthy of my Clara." But now, the roses were dead, and their love was dead too.

She gasped for breath, trying to calm her turbulent emotions, when she heard soft footsteps behind her. A scent of perfume wafted on the breeze—not her usual light gardenia, but Vanessa's sweet, cloying rose fragrance.

"Clara?" Vanessa's voice sounded from behind, with a hint of deliberate gentleness. "It's so late, aren't you afraid of catching a cold by yourself here alone?"

It was Vanessa 's voice, her sweet tone laced with deliberate gentleness, like a sticky sugar coating concealing a poisoned needle. She walked step by step to the pavilion in her high-heeled sandals, her skirt sweeping across the grass, kicking up bits of grass clippings. When she stopped beside Clara , she deliberately adjusted her collar—revealing the pearl necklace Liam had given her yesterday, creating a jarring contrast with the diamond pendant around Clara's neck.

"Are you alright?" Vanessa bent down, her eyes filled with a blatantly fake concern. "Children say things without thinking, Clara , don't take it to heart. Lila just likes me so much that she spoke a little harshly. You're her mother, you certainly won't blame the child, right?"

Clara didn't respond, or even look up. She knew Vanessa all too well—every time she stirred up trouble, she used "for the children" as a shield, portraying herself as an understanding victim. She just stared at the cracks in the pavilion pillars, cracks Lila had made when she was learning to walk. Liam had laughed then, saying, "These are our family's keepsakes," but now, even that "souvenir" felt ironic.

Vanessa 's gaze fell on Clara 's neck. It was a platinum diamond necklace with a pendant of a miniature ballet shoe, the toe of which was set with small diamonds, and the heel engraved with tiny " C & L "—it was a wedding anniversary gift that Liam had given her seven years ago. He had knelt down on one knee and placed the necklace around her neck, his voice fervent: "This is for my ballet princess, and only you deserve it."

“ Clara , your necklace is so beautiful.” Vanessa ’s voice was full of undisguised amazement, even a hint of greed. She subconsciously reached out, her fingertips almost touching the ballet shoe pendant. “The cutting of these diamonds looks incredibly valuable…”

"Don't touch it!" Clara almost instinctively raised her hand to block, her palm slamming against Vanessa 's wrist, her tone as cold as ice. This was the only thing she had left that connected her to the beautiful past, her only spiritual sustenance after giving up the stage, and she would never allow anyone to tarnish it.

Vanessa 's hand froze as her hand was blocked, a flash of resentment crossing her eyes, only to be instantly replaced by aggrievedness. Just then, Lila's clear voice called from afar, " Teacher Vanessa , where are you? Daddy bought a strawberry cake, and I want to eat it with Teacher Vanessa !"

Upon hearing Lila 's voice, Vanessa seemed to suddenly lose her balance, her body jerking forward with a sharp scream: "Ah!" Her hand precisely gripped Clara 's wrist, using the force to pull Clara towards her—the two collided heavily, Clara 's back slamming unprepared against the edge of a marble statue beside the pavilion, the sharp stone tearing through her fabric and piercing her flesh.