Then she pushed.
The fall didn't kill me, but it shattered me. Multiple fractures. Months of agonizing recovery. Permanent damage.
Strangers rescued me—kind souls who helped me survive when I'd lost the will to live. I fled to this small city to hide, to heal, to raise my adopted daughter.
Even now, I couldn't walk fast without limping. My hands still trembled in cold weather.
But that was the past. No point reopening old wounds.
I sat down, pulling my daughter onto my lap, and waited for Paul to leave.
He didn't move. He scanned our shabby home, his brow furrowing.
"Come back with me," he said.
He looked at the peeling paint, the worn furniture, grinding his teeth. "I dreamed of your mother recently. She blamed me for... bullying you."
He stepped closer, guilt shifting to arrogance. "Even though you've done terrible things, we grew up together. For that history, I'll take care of you. Give you a place to live."
His eyes narrowed. "But don't fantasize about threatening Anna's position. You are the past."
I smiled wearily and shook my head.
"No need. I'm satisfied with my life now. We're poor, but at least I don't have to scheme against anyone or be hated by you."