“Every single instance,” he replied.
Her gaze snapped toward my face, filled with pure hatred. “Unappreciative little child.”
Cynthia’s tone echoed from the sitting area. “I would be careful with your phrasing, Kendall. You remain fortunate I withheld worse details from Owen.”
My stepmother lost all the color in her face.
She snatched her handbag and marched outside angrily, pulling the entryway shut violently as she departed.
“Alright then. Remain trapped inside your tiny world of sorrow and average living. I refuse to participate in it.”
Owen rotated toward my direction and moved a stray piece of hair away from my face.
“She has departed,” he stated. “However, Eliana would feel incredibly pleased with you.”
“I am aware,” I muttered softly, and for the initial moment in many years, I genuinely felt the truth of those words.
Cynthia, the person who remained behind following the repair of my outfit to inform Owen regarding the situation involving Kendall, stayed awake to greet me once I returned from the dance. She exited the house following my stepmother’s screaming fit and returned the following day, carrying some baked pastries.
The three of us rested inside the cooking area — myself, Cynthia, and Owen — to share our initial calm morning meal in many years.
Later that evening, I placed the light purple gown inside my wardrobe once again.
It served as evidence that affection had endured.
Exactly like my own spirit.
