Sophia said nothing. She quietly raised her phone and snapped a photo.
The sound of the shutter was crisp, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
Kelsey spun around, face draining of color. Herbert turned too, eyes narrowing.
“Sophia! Why are you taking pictures of me?” Kelsey shouted, her voice shrill.
Herbert immediately stiffened, his voice cold. “Delete the photo. Now.”
Sophia gave a soft laugh, full of mockery. “Oh? You two can kiss in the open, but I can’t take a picture?”
“You—!” Herbert’s face twisted with fury. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but don’t spread it. Kelsey is still a student. Don’t humiliate her like this.”
The words struck Sophia harder than the whip days ago.
“I humiliated her?” Her voice trembled. “Uncle, you left a scar on my face. Eight stitches. Did you already forget?”
Kelsey stepped forward with her usual act—gentle, considerate. “Herbert, this is between me and Sophia. Let us handle it. Don’t get involved.”
Herbert hesitated, then nodded, completely fooled.
He turned to Sophia, face tightening. “From now on, resolve things calmly. Remember, I’m your uncle—stop acting like you own me.”
With that, he walked away and closed the door behind him.
Sophia stood frozen.
Kelsey’s expression instantly shifted. Gone was the gentle front—now, her eyes gleamed with contempt.
“You want to use that photo to scare me away?” she scoffed. “Go ahead. It won’t work. Herbert likes me now. You’re just a bitter leftover.”
Sophia stared at her, jaw tightening.
“You know,” she said slowly, “I could’ve driven you out of this house in countless ways before. But now? I don’t care enough to.”
“I took that photo to show your boyfriend at school what kind of woman you really are.”
Kelsey’s smile faltered.
Yes—Sophia had already discovered the truth. Kelsey had a boyfriend at university. They’d been together for over a year. While she pretended to be a devoted caretaker here, she was playing house with someone else back on campus.
Sophia’s gaze turned icy. “You think you’ve won just because he’s blind. But trash like you never lasts.”
Kelsey’s lips quivered.
Sophia expected her to panic, to beg, maybe even confess.
Instead—Kelsey suddenly slapped herself. Hard.
The sound echoed. Then came the tears, perfectly timed.
“Herbert! Sophia hit me again—come out, please!”
Before Sophia could react, the door burst open.
Herbert stormed out, guided by rage.
“I warned you, Sophia!” he roared. “Stop your madness!”
Without a pause, he raised his hand—and slapped her.
The impact landed right across her stitched cheek.
Something tore. Blood burst from the reopened wound and streamed down her jaw.
Sophia gasped, stumbling to the floor, clutching her face in agony.
Her voice trembled, a whisper barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears.
“Uncle… how could you…”
But he didn’t see her. He was already turning away—toward Kelsey.
And Kelsey, in one final act, threw herself backward and tumbled down the stairs.
“No!” Sophia cried out—but it was too late.
Herbert panicked, tossing aside his cane to rush after her.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted at the housekeeper, completely forgetting Sophia—bleeding, shaking, broken—on the floor.
She sat in silence.
“…Don’t cry, Sophia. Uncle will blow on it—it won’t hurt anymore…”
The memory came unbidden. A long-lost echo from a kinder time.
But it was just that—memory.
She stared after Herbert’s retreating back, eyes burning with unshed tears.
Then she pulled out her phone, calmly dialed 120, and pressed it to her ear.
Sophia, this is your last fall for him, she told herself.
After this, he no longer matters.
