Chapter131 – Begonia…
Lyra bit her lip, hard. “Mom… it’s not her fault. She didn’t mean anything by it. Please… let it go, alright?”
Ophelia looked like she wanted to say more, but before she could, Nathaniel, sitting quietly beside her, finally spoke. “Let’s just eat.”
.....
After dinner, Ophelia pulled Nathaniel aside, voice hushed. “Why are they still like this, even after all these years?”
Nathaniel exhaled wearily. “You know how Clarissa is. And Lyra… she takes everything to heart.”
“Should we talk to Clarissa?”
“No,” Nathaniel said immediately. “If we do that, Clarissa will think we’re taking Lyra’s side again. It'll only make things worse.”
“Then what do we do?” Ophelia asked, frustrated.
Nathaniel was quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe… we should talk to Dorian.”
Ophelia’s eyes lit up. “Good idea.”
That night, Nathaniel picked up the phone and called.
When Dorian saw his father-in-law’s name flash across the screen, he hesitated before answering. “Dad?”
“Lyra’s been back here for three days,” Nathaniel said mildly. “Aren’t you going to come pick her up?”
Dorian’s expression faltered. Three days? He hadn’t even realized it had been that long. Time had blurred together lately.
“I figured she needed a break,” he said. “Thought it’d be good for her to stay with you for a few days.”
Nathaniel gave a relieved chuckle. “Ah, so no big fight then?”
Dorian stayed silent for half a beat too long. “Nothing serious.”
“Well.... She teared up when we mentioned Clarissa. Did something happen between them?”
“Did she say Clarissa bullied her?” he asked sharply.
“No,” Nathaniel replied. “She didn’t say much at all. But her reaction was… emotional. So I thought I’d ask.”
Dorian exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It was a misunderstanding,” he said finally. “Clarissa was drunk. I was just trying to get her home. That kid—Atticus—walked in and got the wrong idea. Clarissa was barely conscious. She didn’t know what was happening.”
Nathaniel made a low sound of understanding. “I see. So that’s what happened… Poor girl. Lyra’s been out of sorts lately. You should come pick her up soon.”
“I will,” Dorian said. “I’ve got a few things to finish up. Then I’ll take her on a trip. Just the two of us. We could both use a break.”
“That’s good to hear.” Nathaniel paused, then casually added, “By the way, Clarissa hasn’t been home recently.”
“She hasn’t?” Dorian asked, brows lifting slightly. “Where is she?”
“She hurt her ankle a couple months ago. Nothing too serious—just a sprain. Atticus has been taking care of her.”
At the mention of his name, something cold flickered in Dorian’s chest.
He kept his voice neutral. “He’s still staying with her?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel said, unaware of the tension lacing Dorian’s tone. “Actually, the two of them are planning a trip soon. Since you and Lyra are going away too, maybe the four of you could coordinate something together.”
Dorian’s lips thinned. The idea of Clarissa traveling alone with Atticus didn’t sit well with him. And yet, he forced himself to stay calm.
“Sure,” he said evenly. “I’ll talk to Clarissa.”
“You’re a good man, Dorian. Thank you.”
Dorian ended the call and stood still for a long moment.
After hanging up, Nathaniel turned to Ophelia and quietly explained the contents of the call.
A flicker of confusion in Ophelia’s eyes. “Dorian was punched? By a teenager? Could it be… Atticus?”
Nathaniel nodded slowly. “Yes. He’s just a kid—eighteen at most. It’s not unusual for young men to be impulsive. You should go talk to Lyra.”
“I will,” Ophelia said immediately, rising from her seat and heading upstairs.
.......
In the bedroom, Lyra was curled up on the bed, sobbing quietly, her chest heaving with broken breaths. When she heard the knock at the door, she flinched.
“Who is it?”
“Lyra, it’s me. I’m coming in.”
The door creaked open. When Ophelia saw her tear-streaked face, her heart ached. She walked in and sat beside her, sighing softly. “Dorian told us everything. It was wrong of your sister to hit you...”
“Mom…” Lyra choked on her tears. “I know. But I don’t blame her. Clarissa must not have meant to hurt me…”
Ophelia placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing small circles. “It’s good that you think that way…”
Lyra wiped her face, forcing a fragile smile as she looked up. “If letting her hit me helps her feel better, then I don’t mind. Really.”
Ophelia frowned. “Don’t think like that. You don’t have to keep giving in. But… Lyra, you also shouldn’t hit people. You're Mrs. Harrington now. Everything you do reflects on the family.”
That remark made Lyra’s face pale. The tears that had just stopped began to flow again.
“Mom… do you think I’m useless too? That I’m not good enough to stand beside Dorian?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Ophelia said. “But as Dorian’s wife, there are things expected of you. That’s just how it is.”
Her words sank like stones in Lyra’s chest. Even Ophelia was defending Clarissa.
Dorian’s coldness, Clarissa’s slap, Ophelia’s easy forgiveness… One by one, everyone was choosing Clarissa. They always had.
Lyra clenched her trembling hands beneath the quilt, then forced herself to smile. “I understand. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
Satisfied, Ophelia gave her a light pat on the back. “Good girl. Let’s put all this behind us and not bring it up again, alright?”
Lyra gave a small nod. But in her heart, the wound deepened.
Clarissa had hit her. No apology. No accountability. And Ophelia’s solution was simply to forget it ever happened.
When Ophelia left, the room fell into silence. Lyra lay motionless in bed, her eyes wide open in the dark, unable to sleep.
She couldn’t stay at the Lancaster home any longer. Not even for one more day.
The next morning, she packed a small bag and returned to the city she once called home—the place she grew up in.
......
That evening, after dinner, Lyra wandered out for some air, not really knowing where she was going. Her feet carried her to familiar streets, long-forgotten corners of memory.
Before she realized it, she found herself in front of his house.
William.
He was out front, tending to a flowerbed, dirt on his hands, sleeves rolled up, the soft golden glow of dusk wrapped around him. He wore worn-in black boots and a waterproof gardening apron over a T-shirt stained with paint and mud—but it couldn’t hide the calm presence he carried.
Lyra froze at first sight of him. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time.
William looked up. For a moment, his eyes locked with hers. “It’s been a while,” he said quietly.
“Yeah… it has.” Her voice was small. “Hi, William. How have you been? How’s your mom?”
“We’re alright,” he said simply.
William turned back to his flowers, but his fingers were clumsy. A blossom snapped at the stem under the wrong pressure.
Lyra stepped forward without thinking, bending down to pick up the bloom.
“Wow… This is beautiful,” she said, turning it gently in her fingers. “What kind of rose is this?”
“Catalina,” he replied. “It’s a hybrid rose. Delicate petals. Hard to grow.”
Lyra looked up at him, eyes glittering faintly. “I love it. Can I keep this one?”
He glanced down at her. “If you like it, it’s yours.”
Her smile brightened. “Do you like flowers too, William?”
“They’re alright. My mom loves them. I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“…Begonia,” he answered before thinking.