Chapter 2Returned After a Year

I quickly looked away, my gaze fixed on the tips of my worn-out shoes. I managed a tiny, almost inaudible, “Mhm.”

Claire was silent for a moment, her expression a mix of emotions I couldn’t decipher. I risked a glance up and saw the complicated look on her face, which only made my heart pound faster. I was sure she was about to tell me to leave.

But then, as if sensing my fear, her gaze softened, a flicker of something—pity? concern?—crossing her features.

“Come inside,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s freezing out here. Your father had to work late last night; he’s not back yet.”

The rejection I’d been bracing for never came. Numbly, I followed her into the warm, bright house.

In the entryway, Claire knelt down and pulled a pair of fluffy pink slippers from a cabinet. “These are new. They’ll be yours from now on.”

Feeling awkward, I nodded and quietly swapped my dirty sneakers for the soft slippers.

She led me into the living room and handed me a warm mug. “You must be frozen through. Drink this ginger tea; it’ll help you warm up.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a small sip.

Claire sat on the couch across from me. She hesitated for a second before asking, “Did you get here last night?”

I pressed my lips together. “Yes. My mommy brought me.”

“She just dropped you off in the middle of the night and left?” Claire’s pretty eyebrows furrowed in a way that looked less like curiosity and more like anger.

I couldn’t lie. I just nodded.

Her frown deepened. She studied me for a long moment, her eyes scanning my slightly dirty dress. “Poppy… does your mother… does she usually not take care of you?”

Her gaze lingered on my dress, and a hot blush crept up my neck. I immediately scrambled to my feet, assuming she thought I was dirtying her pristine couch.

“Mommy’s really busy… she doesn’t have time for me, so my dress…” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Miss Claire. I got the sofa dirty.”

I stared at the floor, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

My reaction seemed to startle her. “Poppy, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she said quickly, a sigh escaping her lips. “Oh, honey…”

She stood up and closed the distance between us, her hand gently taking mine. “Your room is upstairs. Let’s get you into some clean clothes, okay?”

Her hand was so warm. I forgot how to react, simply letting her lead me up the staircase.

As I was changing, Claire noticed the dark bruises on my arm. Her voice was soft, but laced with concern. “Poppy, can you tell me how you got these?”

I looked down at the ugly purple marks and instantly clamped my mouth shut, my free hand gripping the fabric of my new pajamas.

The warmth in Claire’s face vanished, replaced by a steely look, but she didn’t press me further. Just then, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, and I saw the name on the screen: Adrian.

My mother had taught me how to write my father’s name. I knew it was him.

Claire glanced at me. “I’ll just be a moment,” she said, her voice gentle again. She stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. Her voice was low, but I could still catch a few words.

“…the poor girl was out there all night… so irresponsible…”

“…Okay, just get home as soon as you can.”

I stared blankly at the bruises on my arm, the memory of yesterday flooding back.

My mother was always busy with her own things, leaving me to fend for myself with slices of stale bread. But yesterday, she’d come home early. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild as she muttered to herself, “Why… why was that baby born healthy? He has another child now. He’s never going to come back for me…”

I didn’t understand her words, but I knew to stay away from her when she was like this. She sank onto the sofa and opened several bottles of red wine, drinking until she was slumped over, completely drunk.

Worried she’d get cold, I grabbed a blanket to cover her. As I approached, her eyes snapped open and focused on me. She scowled and shoved me away with surprising force.

“I don’t need your pity!” she slurred. “Adrian is cruel to me, and you’re his daughter. You’re probably just as rotten!”

“Get away from me! Just get lost!”

The push sent me stumbling backwards. I lost my balance and my arm slammed into the sharp corner of the glass coffee table. The pain was so intense that black spots danced in my vision.

“Mommy, it hurts…” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed, and she had already passed out.

When she woke up, it was the middle of the night. Sober now, she ran her hands through her messy hair and began to cry, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I’m Elara Vance,” she whispered to herself. “Fierce, proud, I love and I hate with everything I have. When did I become some pathetic, bitter woman who can’t live without a man?”