Chapter 7: No Second Guessing
The car ride home was silent. It wasn't as suffocating as the one to the hospital, and for that, Lilia was at least grateful. She could breathe, even if the air felt thinner with every passing second. The weight in her chest didn't lift, but at least it didn't press harder.
When the car finally came to a stop in front of the mansion, she didn't move right away. The grand stone structure loomed against the afternoon sky, its shadows stretching over the ground like silent sentinels. It was beautiful in a way that had once comforted her, but now it felt like nothing more than a cage.
Lilia's mother was the first to step out. Her movements were as stiff as her expression, her eyes fixed straight ahead as though she couldn't see the world around her. She didn't glance back at the car, didn't check to see if Lilia was following. The old caretaker stood by the door, her posture neat and welcoming, but even her presence couldn't thaw the chill in the air.
Without so much as a glance, Lilia's mother swept past the woman as if she didn't exist. Lilia lingered behind, her eyes locking onto the caretaker's tired but kind face. It had always been like this—Lilia offering small gestures of acknowledgment while her mother carried on, oblivious to the humanity around her.
"Thank you," Lilia murmured, the words automatic and light, so much so that they felt hollow. The caretaker gave her a faint, understanding smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Dragging her feet toward the mansion, Lilia hesitated at the doorway. The air inside always felt colder, sharper, and more oppressive than outside. The grand staircase rose before her, its marble steps gleaming under the chandelier's light, but there was no warmth in the brightness.
Her feet were heavy as she climbed, each step weighing more than the last. The mansion seemed to press down on her from every angle—the high walls, the thick silence, the polished floors that echoed every sound as if the house itself wanted to remind her how small she was within it.
When she reached her room, she shut the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment as her chest tightened. She stood there, her back pressed against the cold wood, trying to steady her breathing. The silence in her room was louder than she remembered, wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket.
And then it came—the tears she had been holding back. Everything came falling like an endless stream as she began to cry.