Author’s POV
Amy’s Death Anniversary at the orphanage was a private event meant for the people who were close to her and knew her personally. Familiar people, well-wishers of Amy, had gathered at the place. Small in number, yet a place that she cherished and valued the most.
A decent-sized frame settled in the middle of the yard’s garden, decorated with flowers, chairs arranged as people appeared with bouquets and roses in white. A sign of peace and freedom. For a person who strived for it most of her life. The chairs were gradually filled, the very front row chairs were deserted and empty, meant mostly for family members, with only one person sitting as if a ghost, drowning in pain, agony and regret that had seeped in his bones.
A bunch of white lilies clasped lightly between his trembling fingers, adding the only white to his dull grey and black suit. For the world, he was a fierce business tycoon with an empire. His wealth and presence themselves spoke volumes before his words ever left. The world knew him for his ruthless business tactics and strategies, but right now, in that miserably silent orphanage’s yard, was a mourning and withering father. Whose wealth and empire had failed to save and protect his only daughter. His ego and ignorance had labelled him as a bad husband and now a worthless father. Mr. Park stayed motionless on his chair, his gaze dipped to his lap, not having the guts to look up at his daughter’s picture. It was a stark reminder of his failure.
In the span of two years, the unbothered and mighty CEO had turned into skin and bones, eyes holding evidence of exhaustion and sleepless nights. Every other day felt like death to him; the pain had eaten him on the inside. His eyeballs spiked red with nerves, penetrated irritation and dryness, while black, heavy eye bags had made their home under those eyes.
He wanted to end his life, but he stayed to repent his sins; he let himself drown in pain, letting it drown his very soul. He was as good as dead, a dead soul living in a barely functioning body. The orphanage felt like a maze of memories. A place that held the most beautiful moments of his life with his wife and his daughter. A paradise where he spent his life as the happiest man on earth, and was soon to realise that happiness never ceased to exist, they disappeared way too early as they appeared in life.
He slowly yet painfully looked up from his lap, an agonised halt to his late daughter’s photograph that had dug his heart to the core. His mind wrenched at the memory of his very daughter growing up at this place, along with the other kids, her carefree smile, her tiny giggles, her very existence had now vanished from the face of this earth, and all it left was a feeling of dread within.
He had tried hard to keep himself breathing, repenting for his soulless actions. Guilt was creeping like a venomous poison into his veins. His eyes brimmed with silent tears, containing his earth-shattering sobs every time he looked at her pictures. This place not only held the memories of his daughter but also his beloved wife. The two very important people who were taken away from his life. He wasn’t sure if it was circumstances or his fault for neglecting them.
A sob escaped his chapped lips as he somehow managed to keep his eyes on Amy’s photograph. He felt a hand resting on his shoulder, patting and rubbing as if trying to provide some sort of support and warmth, but mostly condolences.
Mr. Conor: You need to look after yourself, Park. Stay strong.
Mr. Conor, his friend, uttered in a polite yet grim voice, coping with the death of his late daughter-in-law. It wasn’t easy for him either. Even though they only met during family dinners through the months, he felt attached to her as if she were his own daughter, and the loss had his heart hurting.
Mrs. Conor: I think we shall begin the ceremony, Mr.Park.
Mrs.Conor spoke in a polite yet clipped tone. The loss of her daughter-in-law was a bittersweet memory to her. All she wanted was to get done with the ceremony. She had witnessed his son withering away in the past two years; he always kept blaming himself for her death. He had wailed and wept the tears of agony, wishing for her return, believing his wife was still alive. Mrs Conor had prayed, begged God to spare her son. She had reached to a point of helplessness and could only weep silently in despair and watch her son’s misery. Until a miracle brought him back. She was thankful Emma had been with them through these years. She had given all her efforts to help Jay, even when Jay had been violent and brutal; she had tolerated it all. She had seen her son broken and on the verge of perishing over Amy, who couldn’t complete some promise she had made to Jay.
Mr. Conor released a sigh, feeling the bitter taste emanating from his wife's clipped words. He held her hand, gently rubbing his thumb on her skin as if asking her to calm down. She exhaled slowly, resigning to the chair behind her. The ceremony started, and the small crowd had settled into their seats. Alex had reached the nearby podium on the mini stage, as the next minutes passed with a remembrance speech, his words heavy and thick with unshed tears and sobs that he had contained while delivering his words. Beside him stood Candice, holding his hand and rubbing his arm to console him.
As the speech finally ended, Alex stepped away from the podium, slowly letting go of Candice’s hand, and he stepped towards his sister’s photo frame. His hand picked up the bouquet of white roses as he inched near her picture. His eyes welled up with tears, a sob escaping as he sniffed, slowly leaning closer to her picture. His bouquet-filled hand raised to her photo frame.
“That must be for me.”
He froze. For a moment, he thought the very picture in front of him was talking, but the voice came clearly behind him. The voice was familiar to him. His eyes widened at the same sarcastic tone and deep velvety voice as he snapped his head in the very direction of the voice, along with his body. His eyes met the familiar brown tiger-like eyes, the same stupid smirk lingering on those lips as he stood dumbstruck at the spot. His feet stayed rooted to the spot as he took in his late sister's appearance, who was now standing in front of him, breathing and alive. He stared for a long moment. A choked sob escaped his lips as if a gasp. His lips parted to speak, but none came as he closed them again while his now alive sister looked like a curious baby who was taking in his dishevelled state as her expression filled with amusement.
The next moment, the white bouquet of roses in Alex’s hand slammed down, smacking her in the face, catching her off guard. She retreated, stumbling a little but managing to stay rooted to her feet. The attack didn’t stop, the bouquet came raging again to her face, arms and shoulder as Alex kept on smacking her and didn’t stop until the petals fell apart, flying to the ground, and some of it stuck to Amy’s hair and dress. She was gobsmacked at the reaction, yet she didn’t protest and took in her brother’s harmless attack. After continuously hitting her for 2 good minutes, his hand finally came to a halt. Once a beautiful white bouquet of roses was now only a nest of branches with a plastic wrap and a ribbon.
He fumed and huffed, breathing heavily. Throwing away the branches to the ground, he brisked towards her, arms flailing around her figure as he embraced her, finally breaking into a happy yet confused cry. While Amy froze like a statue in a daze, her hand remained still on the sides, clenching, not sure what she had to do in such situations. He kept crying rivers on her shoulder, wetting her clothes and leaving a big wet patch on the fabric near her shoulder.
Finally retreating, he sniffled as Amy offered a handkerchief to him.
Alex: Where were you? You idiot!!
He exclaimed grogily, punching her shoulder harmlessly as he snatched the hanky off her hand and sneezing out his nose.
Alex: You dare to play hide and seek for 2 damn years!!!!
Another punch landed on her shoulder, but it made her hiss this time; her freshly stitched wound stung through the impact.
Alex was quick to catch her reaction as he visibly flinched.
Alex: Are you okay?
He asked worriedly.
Amy: It’s nothing.
She lied through her teeth, not wanting to make him worry.
At a distance, Jay stood silently, not moving as he chose to stay on the sidelines and let the drama unfold. He knew it was going to be chaotic, and Amy had a lot of explanations to her name. He had been so out of his mind these days that he had even forgotten to inform others about Amy’s return. But it was not his problem, so with that, he went back to the lobby.
Amy glanced around, finally diverting her attention from Alex. She looked at her well-wishers; she saw Candice coming to Alex as she gave a weary smile. Amy knew she was confused and puzzled like the others, wanting answers to her existence and reasons for why she had disappeared. Amy delivered a quick smile, seeming to assure that it was going to be okay. While Candice wrapped her fingers around Alex’s arm, he drew his other hand to hers. And all of a sudden, Amy’s attention stuck to the identical rings on both of their ring fingers; her lips curved up in a knowing smile. Her gaze turned towards Mr and Mrs Conor, who had the same flabbergasted look on their faces. And then her eyes travelled to the only man sitting on the front chairs, but he wasn’t present consciously. His body was there, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else. He hadn't yet caught her presence.
She noticed the absence of his usual charm and dominance that ruled the controlled boardrooms. He was all skin and bones under the black suit; his posture conveyed the pain of a mourning father, and the lilies in his hand made him look lifeless. He looked like a corpse who was giving evidence of his existence just by breathing. Amy didn’t move; she stayed rooted to the ground, her pupils eagerly searched for those dominating eyes, but they didn’t rise to meet her, even once. He didn’t look up.
She exhaled slowly, not sure if she should step forward and confront him or just run away. She had questions for him. The kind of questions that had haunted her for life. She wanted to ask him, wanted to tug on the very fabric of his dress and ask him like she always did when she was a child.
Why? What was her mistake? Why did he hate her so much? What had she done to deserve this kind of treatment? Why was she unforgivable? Why did she no longer have the right to run to him and seek protection from all the dangers of the world? Why was she so unwanted by her own father? She didn’t have any answers to those.
She wanted to grab him and ask those questions, but at the same time, she wished to run away and disappear because maybe she wasn’t strong enough to hear and bear his answer that would hurt her like shards of glass, not visible yet lethal.
She didn’t want to get hurt by her own father, who might be disappointed by her very existence. She stayed still, swallowing the lump in her throat, not sure. She had very much decided to leave the place and hide away.
Mr Conor seemed to sense the anticipation in Amy’s stance as he moved forward, stopping in front of Amy. His hand raised towards her head as he gave a gentle pat, warmth spreading through his wistful smile. He gently held her arm, tugging her with him as they both finally stopped in front of Mr. Park, who was not aware of his surroundings.
Mr. Conor: Park, look at your daughter.
He tapped at Mr. Park’s shoulder, finally making him snap out of daze as he slowly looked. He simply stared at his daughter. It took him minutes to comprehend that he was seriously looking at Amy, breathing and alive. It looked like a dream. His eyes welled up with tears, his lips trembled, his grim stance faltered as he sniffled, trying hard to control his sobs. Meanwhile, Amy stayed frozen, her eyes simmered in disbelief. She had never seen her father like this. He was a man of principle and power, a man who never lost his composure in the toughest of times. She didn’t see him break, not even when she lost her mother and he lost his wife. She saw tears and a flood of despair. He wasn’t the CEO or the director of a company; he was just a mourning man stripped of his titles and power.
Amy’s face was blank, yet her eyes conveyed her shock. A few minutes passed by, and none of them spoke until Mr. Park slowly stood up, making Amy step back, not meeting his eyes. She thought of stepping away from his path like she always did, but this time, there was a firm grip on her arm that made her halt. She freezed. Mr. Park had made her stop, her head rose matching the eye level to meet his teary ones. A moment passed by, as her father finally embraced her in his arms, her head met his chest, and she finally felt the oozing warmth lingering around her. The very embrace that she yearned for years.
She felt as if it was a dream, yet she didn’t move; her fists stayed clenched by the sides as she thought of it as if it as illusion. She thought it would disappear as it did every time, but it didn’t. It felt unreal, as if she was daydreaming. She wasn’t sure how to react; her expression stayed blank but her eyes gleamed through various emotions. Shock. Surprise. Disbelief. Fear.
She exhaled a stiff breath as she slowly tried to retreat. But Mr. Park didn’t let her go, holding her in his arms as his chin rested on her head, he gave a peck to the crown of her head.
Mr. Park: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, princess.
Those words felt like a splash of cold water; it brought Amy all her memories. Sweet memories and memories that needed to be kept buried. Her eyes pricked with tears, a lone tear cascaded down her cheek, but she didn’t cry or sob. She stayed still, unmoving as she slowly yet forcefully pulled away from her father's grasp as if it were a vice. She blinked her tears away, her shoulders squared and posture composed.
Amy: I’ll take my leave Mr. Park.
Those words fell like daggers to Mr. Park as they twisted his insides, and the very name of his taken for formality by his very own daughter felt like a harsh slap to his face. As if someone had thrown cold water over him. The realisation hit deep; it was a long way to go to make her forgive him, and maybe she never would.
He found her turning on her heels as she retreated and walked away from the aisle. Amy didn’t pay heed to the people around her, nor was she interested in giving any justification for her survival. She was looking for a certain someone- her husband. She mentally grimaced at the thought. But she wasn’t sure if she was deserving. Shrugging it off, she kept walking as the office came nearer to her view. She pushed through the door, stepping into the lobby.
The very first thing that came to her sight was a crouched Emma near Jay, who was on the couch, as Emma seemed to look like she was consoling Jay. His hands were trapped between hers as she caressed it lovingly.
The very sight made Amy’s blood boil; she wanted to pull Emma away by her hair and throw her off like the other girl who had dared to hit on her Doctor. Jay, who had been aware of the sudden intrusion, lifted his gaze as Emma followed a second later. Emma’s eyes scrutinised Amy from head to toe, as if she was watching a horror movie, those familiar eyes and that lazy smirk that mocked in her dreams. The very sight of Amy had made her wobble on her toes, and she landed hard on her butt as if Amy had thrown a physical blow.
Emma had turned pale, white as a ghost. She peered at Amy from head to toe as if Amy were some creature.
Emma: You– You’re alive?
She stammered, her eyes wide as the size of the saucers, while her jaw dropped to the floor.
Amy smirked, liking the subtle fear that oozed from Emma.
Amy: Well, thank you for looking after Doctor.
She spat in a polite tone that hid the very bitterness on her tongue.
Meanwhile, Emma was dumbstruck; her very existence felt delusional. She flinched at every step that Amy took forward, finally stopping right beside her. Amy leaned down, her figure hovering above Emma. Her lips curved just a little to her non- existent smirk as her eyes peered at Emma. Her face was blank, but her attitude clearly showcased mockery.
Emma gulped. Her eyes raked over Amy's jet-black short hair. She just couldn’t understand the very synergy of Amy’s charm and character that she could adapt to any style and still slay it. If it weren’t for those sharp eyes and slick features, Emma would have mistaken Amy for a man. Her bangs made her eyes look even sharper. It made Emma even more nervous.
She felt Amy’s hand coming to rest on her jaw, fingers slowly raising her chin, holding her gaze in place, to which she shyly, almost instantly looked away, not wanting to fall for Amy’s unintentional flirting, and Amy wasn’t even trying anything on her.
On the other hand, Jay, who sat invisible and out of focus on the couch, stared between the two women and the tension was palpable in the air. Emma was beet-red, blushing, flustered, whereas Amy was throwing daggers with those menacing eyes.
Amy: You look sick. Ms. Emma.
Her fingers dropped from her chin as she rose straight to her feet, squaring her shoulders in a formal yet practised posture. Her words were monotonous and blank, yet the underlying note of mockery hit like a bucket of cold water.
Emma swallowed, rising to her feet. She looked up at Amy.
Emma: Nope. I’m good.
She lied through her teeth.
Amy: I see. Sickness doesn’t suit a Doctor’s bride to be.
She rubbed in slow, her hot gaze lingered between Emma and Jay, who looked away.
Emma: Umm..yes. You might as well attend our wedding.
She fumbled, throwing a fake bravado.
Dumb-bitch. Amy cursed mentally, wanting to squeeze her small neck and snap it in half with the given display of shameless audacity.
Amy: You see. I don’t share. By the way, why would you marry a married man?
Emma choked on the air as she gasped at the words. Her mouth opened wide as her eyes.
Before Emma could reply or react further, Amy interrupted again.
Amy: Anyway, you have options: piss off or, surprisingly, you’ll die before your wedding. The former one would be beneficial.
She asserted with a calm voice yet raged with venom and fire.
Emma: We’ll see. I have some work to tend to; we will meet again.
Emma spoke with her voice trembling, visibly scared of Amy’s intentions of killing and bloodshed. The change in the air spoke volumes to Emma; it was a flight or fight situation, and bolting out of the door was the most suitable option that she opted for and disappeared right before their eyes. Amy rolled her eyes, dropping her gaze lazily back to Jay.
Jay: Would you go for a killing spree after every other woman who could be my potential partner?
Jay couldn’t help but mumble a question to which Amy only snickered.
Amy: I would love to.
Those words made him roll his eyes, completely done with the atrocious audacity.
Jay: It’s not like I am going to marry you again; we are divorced.
He challenged.
Amy: Well, we signed the documents, but we never went to the court to make it official.
She clapped back.
Jay: My wife is dead. Not to mention with a mansion and an orphanage in my name on her will.
He struck with mockery as Amy sighed, defeated.
Amy: That means I still have a chance because obligations like divorce and death have not been applied yet.
She came back with a nonchalant reply, her lips stretched wide in a grin as her hands casually slid in her pockets, back straight, denoting victory.
Jay gave her a side eye, shaking his head in annoyance. Closing his eyes, he gathered his patience with a tedious sigh. Fluttering his eyes open again, he choked on his breath. Amy, who had been a few steps away, was now inches away from his face. His blue eyes met her tiger-like brown eyes with freckles of gold as sunlight that swam under those orbs hit it in a direction, determination, and something darker lurked beneath those irises. He gulped.
Amy: Tell me, Doctor, do you hate me? Tell me you don’t want me. And I would walk away. I would never see you again. Or care whoever you marry.
Those words struck a nerve as Jay froze. The reply to those words should have been crisp and easy to utter, but his jaw was locked, and the words didn’t escape, even though his lips stood apart. Amy crouched closer, her hands resting on either side beside Jay’s face, her figure caging him against the couch.
Amy: Tell me.
He wanted to say those words he had been chanting over his head for the past two months, but his strong resolve seemed to vanish under Amy’s presence.
He had been out of his mind; he not only complied with Amy’s wishes yesterday but dared to bring her into his arms as if she were his only solace. He had stayed close, broken his resolve and had wished her to be in his arms every morning. He hadn’t noticed until now that the clothes she had been wearing were his. And it made his heart swell with pride and possession. It wasn’t a sane thought. It was close to being barbaric and a sadistic maniac. And Jay wasn’t sure about his emotions anymore.
He stayed silent, the calm room resonated with small breaths that he exhaled, his heartbeat drumming in his ears, while he couldn’t find any expressions on Amy’s face, but her eyes showcased confidence and pride. She was playing with him. She knew he wouldn’t answer.
Jay swallowed, finally looking away from Amy. Their eye contact broke, leaving Jay flustered as Amy leaned back, standing upright. It was an indirect indication of Amy’s victory.
Amy: I see.
With that, she smirked, turning on her heels as she walked towards the door back to the yard.
The day was bright, emotions flowing through the utmost corners of the heart, she breathed, inhaled and exhaled. It felt overwhelming; she hadn’t experienced such intense emotions in the longest time. She kept walking, her head heavy with the memories. Stepping towards the children’s garden, she fished a candy out of her pocket. Jay’s favourite candies had now been her favourite for a while. The best part, those candies held in the surprise of colours. None of the candies revealed their colour until they were unwrapped. She peeled the wrapper off, finding a shiny red coloured Candy before her eyes. She intently stared at the crimson coloured candy; it was the first time she got this colour. She dumped herself on the swing, oscillating back and forth slowly.
Normal people of the world would symbolise such a colour as love, but Amy was altogether a different species. She thought of it as rage and bloodshed. Frustration coursed through her veins when she couldn’t handle those intense emotions. She sought blood every time. She stared at the candy for the longest time. Until she heard a curse. Lazily raising her gaze, she found someone she had never expected.
Martha.
Her step-sister. A woman who had been a fox in a sheep’s disguise.
Martha: The hell!
She screeched.
Amy rolled her eyes, shoving the candy in her mouth. Amy merely glanced at her, but Martha looked quite humble. It was nothing like the version of Martha Amy had known. Martha was a woman who craved nuisance. The very antagonist who will laugh in that evil mean girl voice. But now she looked mature. Like something had changed.
Martha: Wow, I thought it was a ceremony of the dead. I brought roses.
She mumbled cluelessly.
Martha: I’m glad you're alive. I missed you.
Martha stepped forward, settling herself on the other swing beside Amy’s.
Amy noticed. The usual menace in the tone was missing. For a moment, Amy felt as if she were talking with Martha from her childhood. Soft and warm, the tenderness in her voice was back again. Amy kept her expression blank, her eyes looking at everything but her. Martha looked ahead, smiling as if she were talking to a friend.
There was a comfortable silence between them.
Amy: I thought I was speaking to Martha the bitch.
Amy spoke in a monotone as if mumbling to herself, but loud enough for Martha to hear. In response, Martha chuckled.
Martha: I wish I hadn’t been one. Maybe things would have been different.
She smiled softly. Her words made her childlike yet mature.
Amy: Doesn’t change shit.
Amy spat in annoyance, wanting to be left alone. Everything felt different. The world she dreamed and wished for was now happening. The people she sought in the past were now acting as if they were her saviours. It irritated her even more..
She didn’t look at Martha, her eyes stared particularly at nothing, still sucking on her candy. Martha stayed silent. Her eyes were soft as if she understood Amy’s mood.
Martha: I know, you want me to leave. But just listen to me this once. I won’t bother you after that. I know I took a lot away from you; I made you suffer in the past. I had been mean and a bitch. But trust me, I loathed myself more than anybody. I was jealous of you. I always wished for a perfect family like yours. But all I got was an ignorant father and a selfish mother. Stupid me.
Her voice turned heavy.
Martha: I thought if I became like you, my mother would accept me, but at the end of the day, I was nothing but a burden to her life. She made me hate you. All this time, I thought that you were the problem in my life, and I was an idiot and a dumbass at that note. I started to hate you, and in the process, I ended up destroying your family, and both of us became miserable. I could never take your place. I wish I had done things differently. I sound utterly pathetic, but this is the truth.
There was heavy silence; none of them spoke. Gathering courage, Martha started speaking again.
Martha: I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I wish I were brave. This realisation came in late. Mother died. In the rehab centre. And it felt liberating, I hate it, but I felt relief as if those weights had been lifted off my shoulders. She had a terrible death; no remains of her were found, it was all ash, burnt to the ground into dust. Maybe it was karma. And she deserved it.
A sob tore through her, but she continued to speak through uneven breaths. She ended up weeping. Smiling through her tears, a complex feeling that told her to feel sad, but all she felt was relieved.
Amy, who had been looking away, was now staring at Martha. She didn’t step in to console her. All she felt was disgust and pity. She saw a pitiful woman who had placed the blame on her selfish mother. Martha kept crying while Amy stayed unfazed, twirling the stick of her candy between her fingers. Once Martha had calmed, small sobs broke as she heaved.
Amy: They say if a person has unfinished final rites and rituals or a brutal death, they linger on earth as ghosts. And I don’t want that bitch lingering here; I want her in hell. I might meet her there. So I suggest a perfect final rite to be performed.
Amy fished something from her pocket. Martha had finally looked up, her red-rimmed eyes still glistened with tears. Finally, Amy’s hand revealed a small black box. Martha stumbled but rose to her feet, her brows twitched in confusion. She frowned at the white ribboned box as Amy pushed the box to her face. Martha hesitantly accepted the box, glancing between Amy and the box that shifted in her hands.
Martha finally opened the box, and she found a keychain. She was bewildered at the sight of it. Picking the keychain between her fingers, she inspected it closely for the charms. It was a bunch of teeth hooked in silver chains. She brought it closer to her face, having a closer look as she eventually glanced back at Amy as if questioning her.
Amy: This should work for the ritual.
Martha froze at the cold words that left Amy. She stared wide-eyed at Amy, who didn’t display a hint of remorse or guilt. Those cold, unyielding eyes were enough to let Martha know who these charms belonged to. Her knees wobbled as she fell at Amy’s feet, who still had been on the swing, unmoving, her gaze steady, the candy stick twirling slightly between her fingers in excitement and anticipation.
Martha gasped, her breath hitching as her eyes stayed wide in horror.
Amy: I thought of giving it to you later in the day. Now was the time.
She blurted in a low tone, her voice dark and edgy. Martha stared at Amy, shivers running down her spine. She trembled at the sight of Amy, as if she were staring at a monster, the devil itself.
Martha: This can’t be real. What..what did you do …to her?
She stuttered, her eyes burned with tears.
Amy: I gave her what she really deserved. But I didn’t make it that bad, I made an art.
Amy smiled, it wasn’t fake, soft or sweet. It was dark, edgy and wicked. A smile that screamed death, a beautiful one.
Martha finally looked away, breaking into tears, weeping and sobbing her lungs out.
She stayed sprawled to the ground, not having the strength to stand up or even react. She kept on shivering and crying with no one to console her other than her step-sister, who did nothing but stare at the misery that was created by her. Those heart-wrenching cries could have drawn a normal person worried, but Amy was unbothered, her eyes never directed away; she was enjoying every bit of the misery.
After a few minutes, Martha had fainted on the ground, her figure sprawled and dishevelled. The keychain stayed between her fingers.
Amy finally stood up, finishing her candy. She looked down at the collapsed figure. Not sure if she had fainted. She was puzzled, sticking her feet out, she nudged Martha’s back, but there was no response.
Amy: Pathetic.
She concluded, stepped away, turning on her heels to leave. But she suddenly stopped, remembering something.
She fished an invitation card out of her pocket. Crouching down towards Martha, she reached for the abandoned purse and slid the card into Martha’s purse. Giving a final look, she rose to her feet, leaving the garden.
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Hi Guys! Here I'm back with another chapter which took me a long time. But hope you enjoyed reading it. Will be back with another update soon!
Thank you 💜
Peace 🤍✌️
