"If you don’t have them, go buy them! Hurry up!"
Gideon's voice was sharp with impatience, his irritation barely concealed. Without waiting for Sylvie’s response, he grabbed her wrist and half-dragged, half-shoved her out the door—still in her thin pajamas.
The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang.
Sylvie stood there, staring at the closed door, her expression unreadable. She lowered her gaze, her thoughts a tangled mess.
The Scottish Highlands winter was unforgiving, its icy winds slicing through her thin clothing, but nothing was colder than the hollow ache inside her.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stepped into the darkness.
Fortunately, Sylvie had always been kind to those around her. The local farmers, moved by her past kindness, welcomed her and sold her the ingredients she needed.
When she returned home, the kitchen was silent except for the steady rhythm of her knife against the chopping board.
She was chopping shrimp, her hands moving mechanically. In the pot, a big bone soup simmered, filling the air with warmth she couldn't feel.
She stood there, motionless apart from her hands, staring at the minced shrimp paste with empty eyes.
There was no crying. No anger. Just silence.
When the wontons were ready, she carried them to Ivy’s bedside.
Gideon immediately took the bowl, scooped up a dumpling, blew on it gently, and brought it to Ivy’s lips with the utmost care.
Ivy, wrapped in the quilt, had tears glistening in her eyes, her lips pushed into a pout like a child who had been wronged. She took a tiny bite, then instantly frowned.
"It’s not delicious! I don’t want it!" she whined, her voice sharp with dissatisfaction, her tears threatening to spill over.
"Ivy, just have a bite. It’s the middle of the night—there’s nothing else to eat," Gideon coaxed, his voice soft, his patience boundless.
But Ivy refused to yield. Her emotions flared, and in a burst of petulance, she knocked the bowl from Gideon’s hands.
The bowl shattered against the floor with a loud crack, its pieces scattering in the silence of the night.
The steaming soup splattered across the floor—some of it landing on Sylvie.
She flinched slightly at the sudden heat against her skin.
Sylvie stood motionless, as if she no longer felt pain—the scalding soup on her skin, the sharp ceramic shards beneath her feet. She was like a hollow shell, drained of emotions, staring blankly ahead.
Then, suddenly, Ivy covered her mouth, her face twisting in discomfort.
"Ivy, are you okay?" Gideon immediately stepped forward, his voice filled with concern.
"Gideon, I feel dizzy… and nauseous. Could there be something wrong with the food?" Ivy hesitated, her gaze flickering between the spilled wontons and Sylvie.
Gideon's expression darkened. In an instant, he turned, his sharp, accusing eyes locking onto Sylvie.
"I know you don’t like Ivy. But if anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!"
Without waiting for a response, he scooped Ivy into his arms and strode out.
As they passed, Ivy tilted her head slightly, just enough for Sylvie to see the smug, contemptuous smirk on her lips. Hidden in Gideon’s embrace, she subtly raised her middle finger—mocking, victorious.
Sylvie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, trying to suppress the pain welling up inside her. But no matter how much she tried to hold it in, tears slipped past her defenses, streaming down her face uncontrollably.
Just because of her words, you doubt me?
After everything… am I really so worthless in your heart?
Her silent cries soaked her clothes, and the crushing weight in her chest made it hard to breathe. Every beat of her heart felt like it was being torn apart.
That night, Gideon didn’t come back.
Sylvie lay alone in bed, her sleep restless.
She dreamed of suffocating darkness, of something gnawing at her insides, twisting and grinding like rusted gears. As her consciousness sharpened, the pain in her body intensified.
A searing, wrenching agony gripped her chest. Her limbs spasmed involuntarily, cold sweat drenching her back. It felt as if every last ounce of strength was draining from her, leaving her barely able to move.
By morning, the pain had dulled into a numb, empty ache.
Gideon finally returned, Ivy nestled beside him.
He walked in to find Sylvie sitting by the window, her figure bathed in the pale morning light.
She wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t screaming.
She simply sat there, staring into the distance, her eyes hollow and unreadable.
For the first time, a flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s face.
Maybe… what he said last night had been too harsh.
