After thanking the doctor, she walked out of the clinic, the silence of the hospital on New Year’s Eve feeling oddly suffocating. As she moved down the corridor, she could hear snippets of conversation from the next room—Sebastian’s voice, soft and concerned.
"Gabriella, does it still hurt? Don’t be stubborn. If it hurts, hold my hand."
"Our Gabriella is so unlucky. Why did she have to stand next to that jinx and get hurt? My poor child."
The words stung like fresh wounds, and Abigail turned her back on them, walking out of the hospital alone. She had never truly been a part of their family. The realization, though sharp, wasn’t new. What had once been an indifference she could tolerate, now felt like a heavy weight in her chest.
When she returned to the villa, everything seemed unchanged, yet it felt emptier, colder than before.
She went to the study, where she saw the commemorative album perched on a high shelf. It was the photo album Sebastian had created after they got together. He had said at the time, “We need to record our beauty so we can look back on it when we’re old.”