Chapter 7

Clara POV

Seeing me treat those gifts so roughly, Liam, instead, got anxious.

He lunged forward, grabbed my wrist, and snatched a little rabbit hairpin from the storage box.

"Clara!"

He growled, a tension in his voice he didn't even realize.

"Can't you be gentler? You broke the little rabbit!"

That hairpin was a gift from him on my tenth birthday.

I'd cherished it for years. I even still wore it sometimes.

I looked at him, at his absurdly angry expression, and found it utterly laughable.

He himself told me to put them away. I did exactly that. And now he was furious.

Liam seemed to realize his own irrational behavior.

He lashed out in embarrassment, letting go of my hand, and began to attack me with even more venomous words.

"Are you a drama queen?"

He sneered, his eyes full of contempt.

"You're clearly crazy about me. Who are you putting on this act for now?"

He stared at me, as if trying to find a single crack in my composure.

"Clara, I'm telling you, if you actually manage to forget me, I'll change my name!"

I ignored him.

To prove how generous he was, and to remind me who was in control, Liam pulled out his phone and transferred a hundred thousand dollars to me.

"Take the money and visit a few countries."

He shoved his phone screen in my face, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Come back in a month. By then, Stella's pregnancy will be stable."

I looked at the "transfer successful" notification on my phone and said nothing.

Liam seemed to have finally regained some sense of control. He even thoughtfully gave me a few tips for traveling abroad, which areas had poor security, which seasons had unpredictable weather.

Finally, Liam looked at me and said meaningfully, "Have a good time abroad. Don't miss me too much."

He paused, as if emphasizing his new status.

"I'll be a married man now. You'll have to adjust."

With that, he turned and left the room.

After Liam left, I looked at the storage box.

Inside, piled up, were the gifts I had discarded, the ones Liam had then "rescued."

It felt incredibly ironic.

I took out the fourth gift.

It was a rare poetry collection, with Liam's signed dedication on the flyleaf: To my love, Clara.

I carried the book to the window.

Page by page, I tore out the leaves, then let them go.

The pages drifted out the window, scattering across the garden below.

Next, I took out the fifth gift.

It was a brass compass. Liam gave it to me, saying he hoped I'd always find my way home.

I took a small hammer from my desk drawer.

I placed the compass on the floor, raised the hammer, and smashed down. Again and again.

The glass cover cracked. The needle bent. The brass casing was battered beyond recognition.

Until it became a pile of unrecognizable pieces.

I no longer needed to find my way back to this home.

This was never my home.