Elijah had sent a message saying that he and his parents were going out to purchase mourning items and had asked the butler to look after me.
I stared at the screen, my fingers tightening around the phone.
So that was how much I mattered.
I let out a cold laugh and summoned the butler, instructing him to pack up and discard everything Elijah had given me over the years.
With that, I turned and made my way to the study.
My fingers traced the edges of the framed calligraphy my father had once written for me before I yanked it down. Without hesitation, I hurled it into the fire pit.
Two words. That was all he had given me. [Health.]
For Scarlett, he had carefully penned: [A harmonious family brings prosperity.]
Yet for me, his only wish had been health, something he had stolen from me the moment he shattered my legs, ensuring I would never walk again.
The irony burned deeper than the flames before me.
Overcome with rage; I grabbed the scarf and leg warmers my mother had knitted for me and tossed them into the fire, followed by every family photo we had taken over the past decade.
One by one, memories turned to ashes.