Chapter 170: Comforting Sandoz
As Lara stepped out of the room, she saw only Sandoz sitting quietly in the living room and deep in thought. The early morning chill had vanished, replaced by the gentle warmth of sunlight streaming through the window, casting golden patches on the floor like quiet blessings.
The house was alive with sound: clinking utensils, animated chatter, the unfiltered joy of children whose laughter spilled from the dining area like sunshine through an open door. Their excitement lit the morning with a vibrant energy—news must have spread that they would be sent back to their families.
But Sandoz remained. Still. Silent.
"What are you doing here, Sandoz? Why did you not join the children and have your breakfast?" Lara asked.
"I am waiting for you, Sis," the little boy replied, his voice trembling with a hint of sadness, like a soft breeze rustling through the leaves. His big, innocent eyes glimmered with a mix of hope and longing, making his small frame appear even more fragile.
Lara’s heart melted. This young boy had depended so much on her in the last two years. He was her healing balm, a reminder that she wasn’t the cold-hearted, unloved sister her old life had painted her to be.
Her siblings told her that they didn’t have a sister who was a monster because they saw her once, covered with blood after her dear father forced her to put a gun on the head of one of his enemies.
She learned that she was capable of kindness and could speak softly, the opposite of the stern voice that she would normally use to scold the two brats who played pranks on her every time she was home in her previous life.
"Sis, please promise me you won’t send me back." Shimmering with unshed tears, his eyes held a desperate plea, reflecting a world of fear and longing. Every word dripped with emotion as he searched her gaze for assurance, his vulnerability laid bare in that fragile moment.
Lara sat beside him, taking his fragile hand in her own. Their fingers entwined—hers slender and graceful, his barely able to wrap around hers. They sat like that on the edge of the wooden chair, his legs dangling, her sundress brushing the floor, sunlight spilling over them like a fragile dream.
"Sandoz," she spoke gently, "No matter what, they are still your family, your closest kin. They hurt you in the past, but that was two years ago." She looked at the boy, who was saddened by her reply. "Your mother...I know that she must miss you a lot."