Chapter 9
826 Words
"Honestly, Liora, how do you always manage to hurt yourself like this? Go bandage those wounds. Now." Isabella feigned shock as she spoke, her eyes wide with exaggerated concern.
Only then did Jayden glance down and notice Liora's hands—blood seeping from her palms, dripping onto the floor.
He lifted his gaze just slightly, a cold snort escaping him.
"You manage to cut yourself just picking up a bracelet? How stupid are you?" He paused, then added with ice in his voice, "What are you still standing there for? You're getting blood all over my carpet."
Liora hurried out of the living room. The moment she was out of sight, she doubled over and coughed a mouthful of blood into the flowerbed near the entrance.
Slumped against the ground, she replayed Jayden's indifferent expression from moments ago, and a faint, bitter smile tugged at her lips.
Finally. Finally, he looked at her like a stranger. Now, even if she died, he wouldn't flinch.
Maybe that was for the best. This way, she could let go without regret. She could cross over peacefully and find Evelyn in the next life—make things right.
As for the pain she'd carried all this time? It didn't matter anymore.
The next morning, just after dawn, Liora dragged her frail, wasted body to the cemetery.
It was the anniversary of Yu Evelyn's death—the last task she had left before her own time ran out.
On the headstone, Evelyn's photo smiled back at her, bright and careless, just as she'd been in life.
Liora knelt. With trembling hands, she placed a bundle of freesias—Evelyn's favorite—at the base of the grave, then leaned her forehead against the cold stone.
It reminded her of the old days. She used to curl into Evelyn's arms like this, whisper her fears into her shoulder.
But now, there was no gentle hand patting her back. No soft laugh. No sweet talk.
Tears slipped down her cheeks and landed on the tombstone, pooling in the carved grooves of Evelyn's name.
"Evelyn ..." Her voice cracked. "I miss you so much. I'll be with you soon. Please ... please don't turn away from me, okay? Even if you do, I'll just keep bothering you until you forgive me."
"Who said you could come here?!" A familiar, furious voice froze her in place. Liora looked up to see Grace Spencer, Evelyn's mother, standing rigid with rage, her chest heaving. Behind her stood Jayden, his face unreadable. "If you hadn't crawled ashore over my daughter's body, she'd still be alive! Her baby would still be alive! How dare you show your face here?!"
Before Liora could even open her mouth to apologize, Evelyn's mother lunged forward and yanked her violently by the arm.
Liora lost her balance. Her head slammed against the edge of the headstone. A warm trickle of blood slid down her temple.
But Grace barely noticed. Her gaze had fallen on the flowers scattered on the ground, and her face twisted with fresh fury. Trembling, she pointed a shaking finger at Liora.
"You cursed little monster! If you hadn't begged for that boat ride, my daughter would never have drowned! Her baby was barely three months along—we'd already picked a name! She was nothing but kind to you, and you let her die! Has a dog eaten your conscience? Take your rotten flowers and get out of my sight!" Grace snatched up the bouquet and hurled it directly into Liora's face.
Thorns raked across her skin like tiny knives, drawing blood that mingled with her tears.
Liora didn't move. She knelt there, helpless, tears and blood streaming down her face.
Deep down, a small, aching part of Grace knew the truth: in that desperate chaos, for a non-swimmer like Liora to survive at all was already a fluke—let alone Evelyn, weighed down by pregnancy, who hadn't stood a chance.
But grief wasn't rational. The loss of her only daughter—gone with her grandchild, never to call her "Mom" again—had hollowed her out. It haunted her every waking moment.
To make it worse, Evelyn's father had suffered a fatal heart attack just days after the funeral. The blows came one after another, until Grace had nowhere to put her pain.
And so, inevitably, that pain found its target: Liora. The one who lived.
Even on the days when Grace knew, somewhere beneath the rage, that Liora suffered just as much as she did ... she couldn't stop. She poured every ounce of regret, every drop of hatred, onto the girl still breathing.
"Liora ..." Grace's voice broke into a sob. "Why couldn't it have been you that day? Why couldn't you have died?!" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Give me back my daughter! Sobs Give her back to me!"
Overcome by grief and rage, Grace lunged forward and wrapped her hands around Liora's throat.
- Writer
