I lay there on the floor.
No one paid attention to me.
No one held me.
No one called my name.
They only cared about Evangeline.
Only cared about that scum-like “precious daughter” of theirs.
The lights in the living room were harsh and cold, like an operating room.
I was like a discarded corpse.
At some point, it began to rain outside.
At first it was light, then heavier, until it finally became a gray curtain shrouding the sky.
Rain pounded against the ground, against the walkway outside the villa, and against Clara’s lonely figure.
I couldn’t hear her clearly, but I knew she was crying.
Because in the brief pauses between the rainfall, I could faintly make out her broken, hoarse shouts:
“Please… Aria is your own flesh and blood… she’s lost so much blood—she’ll die!”
There w
