Chapter 45
She remembered asking Yvonne what it was when she was a child.
“It’s something very precious to me. There’s nothing I have that I wouldn’t give to you, Miss Angela, but this is the only thing I can’t give.”
At Yvonne’s words, Angela exclaimed “Wow” while admiring the sparkling pendant, then leaned her head on Yvonne’s arm.
“Then I won’t ask for it. I’ll treasure it too. Don’t worry, Yvonne.”
She only learned a little later that it was something Yvonne’s late former husband had made, which the family had shared among themselves. At that time, Angela was in the throes of her resentment, so she used the pendant as another means to hurt Yvonne.
“Carrying the trace of another man while giving birth to my father’s child. You’re really something, Yvonne, aren’t you?”
The voice from her past came rushing into reality, striking her ears, and at the same moment, Angela took out the pendant that had been carefully stored in the bedside table.
When she placed it side by side with Kalian’s, which she held in her hand, they were identical—so much so that no one would notice if they were switched.
Angela gripped them tightly in her hand, afraid of dropping their precious belongings.
She held on like that for a long while before putting Yvonne’s pendant back in its place and tucking Kalian’s back into her bosom.
Once she had set both pendants down from her hands, they began to tremble uncontrollably. It was a spasm.
It was the sorrow of being lost. It was the pain of being pushed off a cliff in the end. It was the agony of her limbs being torn apart. All sorts of horrific emotions climbed up from her fingertips, where she had touched the pendants, and began to gnaw at Angela.
Kalian, a war orphan. Yvonne, who had lost a child during the war. And the identical pendants that both of them cherished.
What it all meant was one thing: Yvonne was Kalian’s mother.
The Yvonne who had cherished and loved me, only to turn away in the end, abandon me, and trample me underfoot—she was Kalian’s mother.
Angela wanted to scream. She wanted to pour out every emotion piled up inside her in a single cry. It felt like that was the only way she could survive.
But now, unable to spit out anything and forced to swallow it all, Angela felt her insides bruising black and blue.
She realized it once again. Far from a flower garden, she would never grow even a single blade of grass in her lifetime. She was the one with a heart so barren that any flower blooming in it would wither away. Angela pounded her chest with heavy thuds and sank to the floor.
“The one who asked what I was doing in a room without its owner—what are you doing here?”
Angela had been sitting alone in Yvonne’s room, waiting for her. As Yvonne entered the room, Angela gestured to the seat across the table from where she was sitting.
“Have a seat.”
Yvonne settled into the spot opposite Angela, her face heavy with fatigue. Angela had no retort if Yvonne were to chase her out for acting like the mistress of the house, but she was grateful there was still room for conversation.
“Would you like some tea?”
Just as Angela was about to speak, Yvonne asked first. Angela shook her head at Yvonne’s rather gracious offer.
If she picked up a teacup, her trembling hands would give her away. Even now, all she could do was hide the shaking under the table. That alone was overwhelming enough.
Fortunately, Yvonne didn’t offer a second time. She simply looked at Angela, as if waiting to hear what she had to say.
“Yvonne.”
Yvonne raised her eyebrows slightly. It meant she was listening.
“Do you remember your dead son, by any chance?”
But the moment Angela mentioned the dead son, Yvonne’s face twisted as if she had fallen into hell.
She leaned back in her chair, pulling away in a clearly defensive posture. Still, Angela pressed on without tiring.
“Has it been so long that you can’t remember well?”
“Why are you asking about that?”
Yvonne’s tone was sharp as she countered.
The woman who had said she tidied Angela’s bedroom every day, not knowing when she might return, had vanished. And Angela knew this was the real Yvonne.
The Yvonne from yesterday… the one she had encountered by chance in her own bedroom… was someone who had disappeared long ago. She was a Yvonne who lived only in Angela’s memories.
“Are you trying to torment even my dead son now? Is that why you’re asking?”
Yvonne reacted fiercely. It was understandable. When it came to her own child, Yvonne was the type who could wield a knife at any moment. She was someone who could slash at anything that hadn’t come from her own womb.
Knowing that, Angela remained unfazed. Because that was just who Yvonne was.
“How could I torment a dead person? I’m just curious, that’s all.”
Angela replied as nonchalantly as possible. Wanting to keep the trembling in her fingertips to herself, she lightly pricked the back of her hand with her nail under the table. She urged herself to calm down, leaving a mark.
“If you’ve found another way to torment me, just stop. I’m tired now too.”
Yvonne’s face contorted as if she were about to cry. In the end, Angela couldn’t ask any more.
She had been curious if Yvonne remembered even a trace of Kalian. Since she hadn’t meant to make her cry, Angela dropped the subject and brought up something else. This was actually why she had been waiting for Yvonne.
“Yvonne.”
Yvonne glared at Angela, as if asking why she kept calling her that. She must have really hated the mention of her dead son.
But once she heard what Angela had to say now, Yvonne would be fine. Her heart would feel much lighter. Angela believed it without a doubt.
“You know, Yvonne, the truth is, even now, I dream of curling up and sleeping in your belly.”
At the unexpected words, Yvonne looked at Angela as if she had misheard. Seeing her sharp gaze soften, Angela continued calmly.
“I think about how, if I had slept in your belly for those ten months and come out, maybe I could have been loved by you like Beatrice.”
Horror spread across Yvonne’s face. Then she began shaking her head. Angela didn’t know what she was denying.
At least, she hoped Yvonne wasn’t denying Angela’s feelings. This was a truth she had never wanted to confess in her entire life.
“What difference does those mere ten months make? The time you raised me was longer… I met you first… But thinking that everything was taken away in that short time made me so angry.”
“Miss…”
“So, Yvonne.”
Angela cut off Yvonne, who was trying to call her as she had in the past, and continued her words. Angela’s voice was serene, but Yvonne’s face crumpled as if she had heard a heart-wrenching scream.
“Forgive me. Even if I die and come back, I could never enter your belly and come out again, but I’ll live my life dreaming that futile dream forever. Forgive someone like me. I’m already paying the price myself.”
Angela would spend her entire life begging for affection from someone who would never give her love. She would have to struggle desperately to keep her own pitiful poverty from being discovered. Trembling in such agony, she would kneel in gratitude for the occasional kindness tossed her way.
That was Angela. In the end, she wouldn’t be able to cut Yvonne off completely.
“Mock me along with Beatrice, pointing fingers and laughing at how desperate I am to be loved by you. Curse me and spit, saying you’ll never love me. After that, I hope you’ll be okay. I hope you’ll forgive me like that, and think of me as nothing.”
As Angela’s words came to an end, the world was sucked into an utter silence. The two of them sat together, but they exchanged no words, as if they existed in entirely different worlds.
They inhaled the same air, but what they exhaled was different. Angela’s was a tenacious composure, while Yvonne’s was a gut-wrenching sorrow.
Angela rose from her seat. Yvonne, with her head bowed, didn’t even glance at Angela’s retreating figure. Yet every time the uncomfortable limping sound reached her ears, her shoulders trembled piteously.
The limping evoked memories of that day. As soon as Angela left, Yvonne clamped her hands over her ears.
The persistent sound was tormenting. The past it summoned was horrific. But the memories stirred relentlessly in her mind, whipping up a storm.
* * *
Yvonne was shoving Angela into the closet. The scene looked cruel, like a massive beast toying with a small, fragile creature before devouring it.
“Yvonne…! Yvonne, I…!”
“If you don’t go in, miss, then Beatrice will have to. Do you really want to do that to the poor child? After all the care I’ve given you, raising you with such devotion—do you want to do that to my daughter? Don’t you know anything about gratitude?”
Young Angela’s face grew soaked with sorrow. The hands clutching Yvonne slowly fell away. Seizing the opportunity, Yvonne shoved Angela fully into the closet and locked the door.
The sound of falling, a small groan, pounding on the closet, pleas for help. Yvonne blocked her ears to all of it. These were sounds she didn’t want to hear. Embracing the child she had protected once again today, Yvonne left Grace’s dreadful bedroom.
Beatrice, cradled in her arms, smiled innocently, unaware of anything. Yvonne smiled back at her.
How could she lock this little one in a closet and starve her? It was unthinkable. Yvonne hugged Beatrice tightly and headed to their bedroom.
“Y-Yvonne… It h-hurts so much…”
With a voice thick with unshed tears, Angela tried to point to her calf, torn by the switch. Brushing her hand aside, Yvonne spoke.
“Just ten more.”
The color drained from Angela’s small face. She cried that she couldn’t take any more. But Grace was watching. If she showed Angela pity here, Beatrice would be next. Yvonne let out a small sigh and looked at Angela.
“Then should I beat Beatrice instead? Would that satisfy you? Why won’t you listen? Don’t you realize that acting like this is just tormenting that poor little child?”
Teaching her how immoral and selfish she was being, Yvonne administered the remaining lashes to Angela. Once the ten were done, Yvonne could finally hold Beatrice.
That day, Grace seemed in a good mood and told Angela she could leave as well. Yvonne took Beatrice in one arm and Angela’s hand in the other as they left the room.
Angela seemed relieved by that alone. She stifled her sobbing breaths, gritted her teeth, and walked on.
After a few steps with Angela, Yvonne told her to go on ahead. Angela’s face, shadowed in a way unbecoming of her age, replied.
“I want to… stay with you, Yvonne.”
Yvonne knew the state of the legs hidden beneath her dress. She planned to check on her anyway after putting Beatrice to bed. She would treat them to prevent scarring.
But an inexplicable irritation flared up. She was already at her wits’ end just caring for Beatrice, and this whiny child grated on her nerves. So she sighed first.
At that, Angela said, “Oh, never mind. I’ll go,” and began limping down the hallway toward her room.
“Yvonne…”
One day, lips parched from not a single sip of water barely called her name. But Yvonne ignored Angela completely, turning away. She had to, or she’d be tempted to give her food if she looked.
Angela seemed to give up, her shoulders slumping. She must have been terribly hungry.
But Grace had permitted Angela’s meal for tomorrow. If Yvonne didn’t uphold that, next time it would be Beatrice starving.
Just then, Beatrice started whining that she was hungry. Yvonne picked her up and prepared to nurse her.
Angela watched Beatrice with envious eyes. For some reason, it irked Yvonne, and she turned her back abruptly while holding Beatrice. She could feel Angela’s startled face, as if she’d been whipped, bowing deeply.
At the time, Yvonne didn’t even sense what was wrong with it. She was simply doing her utmost every moment to protect Beatrice. She couldn’t put a child who could only express her feelings through tears in front of Grace’s torments.
If Grace had said to lock her up, starve her, or beat her instead, Yvonne would have offered herself without hesitation. But the targets were always Angela or Beatrice.
The choice was obvious. No one in the world could sacrifice their own child as an offering in such a situation.
