Layla’s POV:
In the small garden of the sanatorium, a frail middle-aged woman sat motionless in a wheelchair.
Her vacant eyes stared into the distance, and her slightly disheveled hair framed a face still holding traces of beauty.
Despite her clean and tidy appearance, her pale complexion betrayed years of illness.
The loose hospital gown hung on her thin frame, and a soft breeze lifted a few strands of white hair at her temples, making her look even more fragile.
This woman was my mother, Grace.
She had been admitted to the sanatorium when she was still young and had never left.
Back then, I was still a minor. Her stepson, Donald, was her legal guardian,
and he used this power to control me. If I disobeyed him, he would revoke my visitation rights.
Because of this, I rarely saw m
