She lifted her head, making her tone sound casual.
"The living expenses I've been sending you over the years, I see you've hardly touched them."
Lynn Shaw pressed her lips together, her voice dropped a few notches.
She had specifically checked the account and knew her daughter had never touched that money.
Her heart ached, but she didn't dare to directly question it. She could only use this plain sentence to probe her daughter's attitude.
Every time Lynn Shaw called, her daughter always rushed through a few words, then claimed she had class or something else to do, eager to hang up.
She could hear her daughter's exhaustion, and also hear her distance.
She once wanted to say a few more words, to ask if she was cold, if she was eating well.
But when the words were at the tip of Tongue, they were always blocked by a "Mom, I have class later."
She understood, the child still blamed her in her heart.
But what could she say?
Explanation?
Justification?
Or talk about her own helplessness?
She feared that saying too much would only make her daughter feel like she was trying to dodge responsibility.
But sending her abroad was a matter of necessity.
It wasn't that she didn't want to keep her, or that she didn't care about her.
Reality forced her, leaving her no choice.
If she had stayed, the consequences would have been unbearable.
If that matter from years ago got out, Mrs. Prescott wouldn't acknowledge her, and the Prescott Family couldn't accommodate her.
Everyone in their circle would treat her as a joke.
She remembered that night, Mrs. Prescott sitting coldly in the main seat, not even bothering to pour her a cup of tea.
"If you dare let her stay, I'll act as if you don't exist as a daughter-in-law."
She knew, if she were stubborn, her daughter would lose all the Prescott Family's protection.
"I have my part-time jobs and I'm interning at a law firm. I earn enough to get by."
Vivian Sinclair's voice was calm.
She didn't want Lynn Shaw to think she was not doing well, nor did she want the other to assume she needed any kind of compensation.
Vivian Sinclair didn't want to spend the Prescott Family's money.
Even though that money belonged to her, she was reluctant to touch it.
She always remembered Mrs. Prescott's superior air when she was little.
At the age of seven, she wanted a piece of cream cake. Just because she looked at it a bit longer, she was publicly chastised by Mrs. Prescott.
"Does a wild child like you deserve such an expensive thing?"
From that day on, she knew she would always be an outsider in this family.
Lynn Shaw felt uncomfortable seeing her daughter being so polite.
She longed to hear her daughter complain, act coquettishly, or even throw a tantrum.
But Vivian Sinclair didn't, she always maintained the right distance.
But there was no way to bridge the gap all at once, she could only silently persuade herself in her heart.
Take it slow, eventually things will get better.
She knew she owed too much.
She just hoped she still had time.
Waiting for the day when her daughter was willing to truly accept her.
"You must be exhausted, Mom won't disturb your rest."
She glanced at her daughter's slightly fatigued face, couldn't help but want to reach out to straighten her collar.
But in the end, she withdrew her hand.
Some actions haven't been done for too long, even reaching out lacked courage.
"Get some sleep early."
After saying this, she quietly exited the room.
The gap in the door slowly narrowed, until the last sliver of light was cut off.
The room returned to silence.
Only then did Vivian Sinclair relax, her whole being slowly unwinding.
She leaned against the door, sliding to sit on the ground.
She thought she would cry.
But her eyes felt dry and painful, not a single tear dropped.
She couldn't yet adapt to the present Lynn Shaw.
The mother who used to be cold, distant, suddenly becoming cautious, always considerate.
This change made her uneasy, even a bit panicked.
She didn't know how to respond.
The Lynn Shaw of the past, almost never cared for her.
From the time she could remember, her mother's gaze always landed on Zeke and Lucia.
She remembered once, Lucia intentionally knocked over her lunch box, scattering the white rice everywhere.
Before she could speak, Lynn Shaw had already blamed her.
"Why didn't you secure it? Your brother didn't do it on purpose."
But she clearly saw the smugness in Lucia's eyes.
The mother she remembered often coaxed those two brothers in the living room.
While she could only silently watch from the corner.
Standing in the shadows at the entrance, clutching a cold bento box.
Back then she understood, in this family she would never be the main character.
She carried her pajamas into the bathroom, turning on the shower.
Waiting for the water temperature to gradually rise to a comfortable warmth.
Warm water slid down her shoulders, washing away her fatigue.
Steam filled the air, blurring the mirror.
She closed her eyes, letting the water splash her cheeks.
Then she burrowed under the covers, curling herself into a small ball.
The quilt was new, with a faint scent of laundry detergent.
But the unfamiliar texture made it difficult for her to find comfort.
The room was quiet to the point she could hear her own faint breathing.
She thought changing to a new environment would make it hard to sleep.
The scene of saying goodbye at the airport would replay in her mind incessantly.
In the end, as soon as her head touched the pillow, her eyelids became too heavy to lift.
Halfway through sleep, she had a dream.
The dream was so clear it seemed to replay that scene from years ago.
She dreamt that Lynn Shaw had finished packing and was ready to leave with her suitcase.
She clung tightly to Lynn Shaw's coat.
She cried, pleading for her not to leave, tears falling uncontrollably.
That day it was snowing too, snowflakes landing on her thin coat.
She stood barefoot in the snow, the ice shards cutting painfully into her soles.
But she couldn't mind the pain, only clutching forward.
"Mom, don't go, don't leave me, I promise I'll be good, I won't anger you anymore, I'll do anything you say..."
"Don't leave me... I beg you..."
No matter how she shouted, her hand was forcibly broken open.
Unsteady, she fell into the snow pile.
The ice shards crusted her face, freezing her to the core.
Struggling to lift her head, wishing for one last glance at her mother.
But the woman didn't even look back.
"Vivian, Vivian."
Vivian Sinclair struggled to open her eyes.
Her vision was blurry for a while until it slowly focused.
She unexpectedly saw Curtis Prescott standing by the bed.
"Uncle?"
She murmured softly.
Was the fever confusing her?
Why would Curtis Prescott be in her room?
"You have a high fever, over 39 degrees, it's quite serious."
Curtis Prescott said as he squeezed dry a towel soaked in cold water and placed it on her forehead.
The cool touch slightly cleared her muddled head.
He got up early and passed her room.
Hearing someone inside softly repeating "don't go."
At first, he thought she was just talking in her sleep.
Listening for a while, he noticed the voice growing urgent.
He felt something was wrong and gently pushed the door, finding it unlocked, and entered.
That's when he found her face burning red.
Only then did Vivian Sinclair realize, her entire body was too weak to exert strength.
Cold air seeped through her bones.
Even wrapped in a thick quilt, she couldn't stop the shivering.
"Sister-in-law had something come up and went out, can't rush back. I've called the doctor, should be here soon."
Curtis Prescott's tone was calm.
Vivian Sinclair gave a faint "hmm."
Her throat felt as if it had been slashed, dry and aching.
She found it laborious to say more than a word, so she kept her eyes closed.