My Son Has His Eyes

Daisy’s POV: I counted the money three times. Then a fourth. Then one more time, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. The bills of different colors were neatly spread across the bed, some old, some new. Some were so worn the edges had gone soft, others still carried a faint scent of soap because I had once hidden them inside my coat pocket and accidentally washed them. I arranged them into small piles. One. Two. Three. … Enough. It was really enough. My chest pounded so hard it hurt. I sat still for a few seconds, staring at the money in front of me and not daring to touch it again. I had saved this amount little by little over three years. Money from part-time jobs. Money from secretly selling old belongings. Money left over whenever my stepmother sent me to buy groceries and intentionally gave me a little extra change. Anywhere I could keep even a tiny amount, I kept it. Maybe for the rest of my life, I would never forget what it felt like to gather coin after coin. There were times the amount was so small I thought I would never save enough. But now I had done it. I could leave. I could finally get out of here. The thought made my fingertips tremble. Excitement. Happiness. And fear. Fear that if I got caught, all these years of effort would disappear overnight and I wouldn’t know when a second chance would ever come again. And of course… if I were caught, I knew exactly what kind of punishment would be waiting for me. Even though every day in this house already felt like serving a sentence— I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t want to stay trapped in this life any longer. Right then, a sharp train whistle echoed through the night. I immediately rushed toward the window and looked outside with eager, bright eyes. Exactly eleven o’clock. Eleven at night was when the White Raven arrived at the station. The whistle I heard every single day somehow sounded grander tonight. It sounded like a war horn carved from ivory, echoing across a vast highland and calling warriors to march beneath a cold dawn sky, heroic and distant enough to make your heart tremble with the desire to leave behind the place you belonged to. And then White Raven appeared. It rushed across the rails like it always did, its silver-white body wrapped in moonlight like a great cloak welcoming a victorious warrior home. Every time I saw it, I never felt like I was looking at a machine built from steel and rivets. It felt alive. Like some living creature gliding toward another world. From this cramped attic room, I could only see a short stretch of railway. In just a few seconds, the train would disappear. But that was enough. I didn’t need to see White Raven’s entire journey. Just those few brief seconds when it emerged between the mountains and vanished into darkness were enough to make me believe there truly was another place beyond this one. Every day. At this exact hour. I stood here waiting for it to pass. And every day, watching those glowing windows slide through the darkness, I thought about the same thing. That someday, I would board that train. I would leave this place. I would go to Asterveil. I didn’t know whether the city was truly as beautiful as the newspapers praised or the films tried to portray. I didn’t know whether the honey bread really smelled like roasted almonds or whether the rose gardens truly bloomed all year without fading. But I knew one thing for certain. No matter how ordinary Asterveil turned out to be, it would still be more beautiful than here. At least there would be no shouting echoing behind closed doors. No eyes looking at me as though my existence itself had been a mistake. No one coldly saying they wished I had never been born. I tightened my grip on the cloth bag beside my bed. Tonight. I was leaving. And this time, no one would stop me. Just then, a shout cut through my thoughts like a blade, tearing apart the silence inside my tiny room and dragging me back to reality. “DAISY!” I startled. My stepmother’s voice came from downstairs, sharp enough to pierce through the floorboards. “Are you deaf? I’ve been calling you!” I quickly stuffed the saved money into the bottom of my bag, took a deep breath, and walked downstairs. She was standing at the back door with her arms crossed, looking irritated as if merely seeing me was enough to ruin her mood. Selene Gomes. Or Selene Wilson. My stepmother. She had married into this house only three days after my mother died, fifteen years ago. Back then I was five. She was twenty-five. Now I was twenty. And she was forty. Tall and thin, always dressed neatly to the point of stiffness, my stepmother was obsessed with maintaining the figure and “presence” of a noble lady. Even when sleeping, she refused to “ruin her image.” Her pale blonde hair was pinned neatly at the back of her neck not a single strand out of place. She wore a cream-colored dress and an apron so clean it looked decorative rather than practical. Her face wasn’t ugly. In fact, at first glance she could even be called elegant. But her constantly pressed lips and cold eyes sharpened every feature until she seemed distant and unapproachable. Though perhaps she was only like that with me and put on the act for outsiders. I had never seen her look at Diana that way. Only me. Whenever she looked at me, it felt like she was staring at something that had been placed in the wrong house. “Go water the flowers outside the ceremony area. Diana’s wedding is tomorrow. If the flowers die, don’t blame me.” Diana. Right. Tomorrow was Diana’s wedding. My younger stepsister. Diana Wilson. Funny, wasn’t it? Diana was only two years younger than me and Selene had only married into this house when I was five. What that meant… I’m sure anyone could figure out without me explaining. The moment she turned eighteen, Diana was arranged into a marriage everyone praised as an equal in every sense, well-bred and well-connected. The groom was the young heir of the Byrne family. Mr. Byrne was the Alpha of Nightvale Pack and also a professor at the prestigious Asterveil University. Mrs. Byrne was a television broadcaster. That alone was enough for a merchant family like the Wilsons to treat the Byrnes like a golden ladder leading straight into high society. They couldn’t wait to push their daughter upward before someone else took the opportunity. But I didn’t care. My father and stepmother had poured so much into this wedding it felt as though they had emptied their savings and retirement money for it. Not that they had ever been generous people. I had certainly never seen them this generous before. Would an ordinary wolf like Diana survive inside a family as powerful and stubborn about bloodlines, strength, and genetics as the Byrnes? Not my problem. I looked where Selene pointed. The entire yard had already been almost completely decorated. White archways lined the path, wrapped in ribbons and soft veils hanging like evening clouds. Tomorrow, Diana would walk beneath them toward her groom. Red and white roses bloomed along both sides, glowing beneath the sunset until the whole courtyard looked like a scene from an expensive wedding magazine. Seeing me stand too long, Selene frowned slightly and handed me the watering can. “What are you standing there for?” I took it and quietly answered, “Yes. Sorry. I’ll do it now.” Maybe because I was in such a good mood today even my voice sounded softer than usual. She stared at me for a few more seconds as if something felt wrong, but eventually turned and went back inside. I walked down into the yard. The sun slowly lowered beyond the horizon, pouring honey-colored light over the garden. Rows of roses quietly received the water, droplets rolling across petals and reflecting the fading sunlight like tiny pieces of glass. I watered for a long time. Then suddenly thought tomorrow would probably be beautiful. There would be music. A wedding dress. Laughter. Blessings. But none of it would have anything to do with me anymore. Just then, the back door opened. Footsteps approached and immediately I knew who it was. My father, Daniel Wilson. He looked across the yard and said casually, like assigning work to a servant: “You’re sleeping outside tonight.” I looked up. He pointed toward the ceremony area. “Watch the dogs. Don’t let them run in and ruin the flowers.” I stayed silent for a few seconds before answering, “…Yes.” He frowned, unsatisfied. “You hear me?” I nodded. Without another word, he turned and walked back inside. Watching his back disappear, I quietly sighed. I was used to this already. But somehow, this time it hurt. Maybe because… this might be the last time I ever saw him. I used to think the day I left would break my heart. I thought I would miss this house. Miss this garden. Maybe even miss my father. No matter how badly they treated me, he was still the only family I had left. This house still held the only memories I had of my mother. Of my family. But now, I felt nothing. Maybe because there was only one thought left in my mind. Tonight, I was leaving. I kept watering the flowers as if nothing had happened until night fully settled. Until each window in the house went dark. Until the voices faded and disappeared. I sat outside in the yard, leaning against the fence. I didn’t sleep. I listened. Footsteps across wooden floors. Doors opening and closing. Water running. Dogs barking in the distance. Time passed so slowly that each minute felt endless. One hour. Two. And finally, everything fell silent.