I looked up to see a few of his colleagues entering, their eyes fixed on me. I didn’t try to defend myself; why bother? Words were meaningless.
Damian’s voice dropped to a cold, sharp edge. “Go home. Stop making a scene.”
Chiara smoothed her dress, wiped her tears, and began greeting his colleagues as if she were the lady of the house.
I grabbed Mara by the wrist before she could speak, pulling her toward the exit. I said nothing. My face was numb.
As we left, I caught Damian’s gaze flicker toward me. For a brief moment, something like humanity, maybe regret, passed over his expression as he glimpsed the scars on my arms. But he stayed silent.
After dropping Mara off, I bought balloons, candles, and small toys, then hailed a taxi to the cemetery.
---
When I finally saw the grave, my knees nearly buckled beneath me.
Weeds had overtaken the area. The soil was cracked and neglected. No one had visited—not even once.
Then I noticed it.
Two words, scrawled in red paint across the tombstone: bastard.
I froze, my chest tightening, vision blurring. I stumbled forward, rubbing frantically at the paint with my bare hands, crying out her name. “No… no… no…”