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September 2, 1182
It wouldn't be long now.
Searle was alone, but that was as it should have been. Who would he want here, anyway? His wife was dead. His mother was dead, half his siblings were dead, the other half and his father a kingdom away. He'd seen the baby before Morgan put her down for the night, saddened not to have more time with her, relieved that she would not remember losing him. His uncle and aunt and cousins had seen him as well, but none sat with him and he didn't blame them for it. Time would go on with or without him, and so would the toils and patterns of daily life. They were needed elsewhere.
His uncle had taken the liberty of summoning his children. Tivie had called to make some last attempt at peace--still not at arm's length, but if the tear in her eye hadn't just been a speck of dust, more grieved than he deserved. Landus had tagged along; he hadn't spoken more than he deemed necessary, but that was probably for the best, as was Cladelia's last parting mutter of 'Goodbye, Uncle Searle'. Neither would ever know, and they were better off for it. The poor little baby would be better off too.
No one would miss him much.
But he hadn't expected to die having remembered what joy was, and Viridis had given him that. She'd given him eight happy years. She and the baby, her little namesake, had given him ten happy days. She'd even gone with a peaceful smile on her pale face, hand squeezing his until she lacked the life to hold. Though she'd hoped otherwise--and he never thought anyone would hope such a thing about him--he'd known then that he would join her soon.
So he'd given their daughter the only gift he could, the only gift he could give Viridis before reuniting with her. His daughter would not know him, but one day, maybe she'd know that he'd spent his last days escorting her out of lonely, sickly Carvallon and into Naroni, where she would grow up in the care of her doting grandfather, with no shortage of aunts and uncles to spoil her and cousins to play with. Viridis had given him happiness.
The least he could do was pass that along to their baby.
She'll be all right, Viridis. His cloudy eyes drew strength from the thought, the multicolored blur of a room taking shape as they cleared. If he squinted, he could almost see her.
She'll be all right. She'll be happy.
NEXT CHAPTER:
September 1, 1182
Falidor had not lied.
Rarely did strangers call at Severin's castle on the first of the month. The first of the month was the day the tax collectors went about from house to house, and most of the people were cooperative enough to stay close to home--and those who weren't certainly weren't about to march up to their lord's front door. After the collectors had what they came for, they'd go to the knights, who would have to recount, and then later in the week, the knights would come to him, and he and Nora and Raia would count again and pay everyone accordingly. There were always those who needed more time with their payments, of course, but they most often had the sense to call a few days before the first. The odd visitor from another shire aside, many a first of the month came and went without him seeing a face that wasn't a part of his household.
But today, sure enough, there was a young green-eyed woman, a woolen purple coat for the unseasonable chill, a swaddled infant in her arms. He didn't think he'd seen her before, and she didn't look to be in dire need of a tax break, and something about her gave him the sense that she would have taken care of it earlier if she was. What could she have needed?
For all he was wondering, it was Nora who asked. "Can I help you?"
The woman shook her head. Most people had reservations about meeting lords and ladies with gestures, but the way she was biting her lip, perhaps she deemed it preferable to what she had to say. "Thank you, my lady, but I'm as well as I can be." As well as I can be. What did that mean? "My name is Morgan, but the way. My companion is tying up the horses; I'd explain why we're here, but he told me he'd rather tell you himself, and he does have more right to the story than I do."
More right? Severin frowned. No one claimed to lack 'right' to a pleasant story. "What do you mean?"
Morgan's green eyes fell to the baby as she stepped forward, stopping only a few feet short of him. Severin couldn't claim to be an expert on baby faces, but he saw little resemblance between mother and child. "I'm sorry, my lord. Um... this is your granddaughter."
She bit her lip, likely expecting some stunned silence, and not to be disappointed if she was. Severin stared at her, then at Nora, who'd crossed her arms and lowered her brows, no doubt thinking the same word he was.
JADIN!
Severin leaned in for a closer look at the baby. She had fine, fair hair like little Celina, but other than that she bore little resemblance to any of Jadin's other children. Not that siblings always looked like each other or their parents, but on some strange level Severin suspected beyond the visual, she just didn't fit with the rest at all, even if she was only a half-sibling. And if she didn't look like Jadin's family, why didn't she take after her mother more, at least so much as babies could take after anyone?
She did have Severin's eyes--unlike any of Jadin's children, or any of his blue-eyed children's children at all, if he thought about it. Come to think of it, had he ever seen a brown-eyed child of two blue-eyed parents? Or a blue-eyed parent and a green-eyed parent?
...Lonriad? No--this little one looked even less like Lonriad's children than she did like Jadin's. Less like Lonriad too.
"She's... very cute." She was, but that wasn't the point, and everyone in the room knew that. Luckily for all of them, the baby yawned.
"Sounds like someone could use a nap." Nora shot Severin a quick grimace, then took Morgan by the shoulder and led her past him. "You look a little tired yourself as well. Severin, we'll speak with Jadin and Xeta later?"
He nodded. If the baby wasn't Jadin's, then there was no point in worrying him and Xeta unnecessarily, and he wanted to hear Morgan's side of the story first--or that of the companion who apparently had more right to it. Somehow.
Nora shut the door behind her, her footsteps and Morgan's fading out of earshot as they walked toward the guest chambers. With any luck, they wouldn't run into Jadin or Xeta--or Jadin, at least, if he was the father. Nora had probably already thought up something to tell Xeta if necessary, and surely Morgan would have the sense to play along? She seemed like a sensible young woman...
"Uncle?"
Severin turned his head. His son-in-law stepped in the door with a look of death beneath his eyes and the mystery fled at the sight of him. Morgan had been right. The baby was Severin's granddaughter.
His mistake had been in assuming that Morgan was her mother.
"Searle." Years now he'd lived in dread of Searle turning up without Viridis in sight, having resumed his old habits and lacking the decency to at least strand her with those who loved her, but if the pieces added up, then the true story turned that fear to a fairytale. "Viridis... never wrote that she was expecting."
"She didn't want to get your hopes up." As if his hopes would have ever been an issue! "She'd lost a few before, and I think she thought that with her health..."
Her health. Searle's health, from the look at him, from the rasp in his voice. Viridis's body had never refused a passing ailment. Poor darling. "Was it the birth, or did she catch what you have?"
"She had ten days with the baby." Ten days. If Severin could guess the age of the baby, then she hadn't been gone much longer. How ever long it was, it was still too long ago, and not long ago enough. "She spent all of them in bed, but I'd never seen her happier. She wanted her so badly..."
Severin clenched his hand and dug a nail into his palm. He wanted his daughter too. "God."
"The baby's name is also Viridis. They have the same birthday, and... well, after the birth, I kind of knew that it wouldn't be long." Searle wheezed, shrinking into himself as his lungs collapsed and sputtered. It wouldn't be long for him either, and Severin suspected he knew it. "Morgan is the nurse. She's a godsend, I swear; she turned up the day the baby was born, even though her own baby didn't make it. She even helped me bury Viridis beneath the tree where we used to picnic." Viridis had shown Severin the tree the first time he'd visited. He'd wondered if her resting place had been her idea. She'd always thought far too much about her own death. "When I die, write my father and tell him to lay me beside her?"
They'd always had that in common, her and Searle. "Searle..."
"It's all right, Uncle. I was lucky. I had more than ten days with her." So had Severin. It meant little. "I don't want another without."
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 10, 1182
A sharp pang and the weak first light bade Viridis welcome to her twenty-fourth birthday. Given her medical history, not one member of her family had expected her to live so long, herself included. Twenty-four wasn't old, nor was it an age that was somehow remarkable, but it was a milestone for her.
Not the milestone, though--no, that asserted itself with another jolt of pain. Viridis clenched her jaw, grinding her inner cheek in a vain attempt at distraction. After her entire life, she was no stranger to random aches, but certainly nothing of this magnitude. Was this... labor?
But how would she know? She'd never carried a baby to term before. Yes, the miscarriages had stung, physically as well as emotionally, but surely labor...
Searle snored. Figured--something wrong, and the only person around was asleep and wouldn't know anyway. She wished one of her sisters were here, or her stepmother. Or hell, while she was dreaming, her mother. Surely her mother would have known. What mother didn't?
Only Viridis wasn't a mother. Not yet, at least, if she dared hope 'yet'. She didn't know if this was labor. She'd never labored before! How would she have possibly--?
"Holy fuck!"
No. No, whether she recognized it or not, it was definitely labor. "Searle..."
"Mmm?" He stirred, coughing somewhat. A nasty sickness had been making its rounds through the area lately, and Viridis feared he was coming down with it. Come to think of it, she'd had a bad bout of a cough just that afternoon. She was sick, her husband was sick, and she was in labor. On her birthday. And she hadn't even worked up the courage to tell her family back home that she was pregnant.
What would become of the baby if they both died? And that was assuming that the baby was all right in the first place...
"Searle, I'm sorry, but I need you to get the midwife."
"Now?" The blankets rustled. The baby answered its father's question in a way its mother didn't much appreciate.
"Yes, now!" Not to be outdone, the baby sent forth another shockwave. "Please hurry!"
"Of course." He grabbed his coat off the footboard and hurried off, not even bothering to dress the rest of the way. Viridis cringed. If he wasn't sick now, he certainly would be.
But it would never occur to Searle to worry about himself. Sick or not, he wouldn't leave her alone for long.
Not that she would be in any case.
God, she prayed, a worried hand to her middle, a surging agony in her thighs. Whatever happens to me... whatever happens to Searle... please let it...
It. No, she couldn't think that, now that it was so close to being here. They? No, that only made it sound like twins. She couldn't handle twins, not with her health! She'd have to guess. She hadn't dared guess before, but she'd have to. Her baby was not an 'it', not any more.
Another pang came and went. She closed her eyes and her mind took over, an image of a little blonde girl playing by the river under her grandfather's watchful eye.
Her. Whatever happens to us, please, Lord... please spare her.
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 18, 1180
"...and that should about do it." Cladelia's stepmother finished with the front laces of the overdress, then stepped back to examine her as a whole. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, Danthia." Cladelia smoothed out her skirt, for all there wasn't a wrinkle to be found in the first place. She supposed she was nervous, but she'd been nervous before and it had never felt quite like this. Then again, perhaps that was fitting. This was, in theory, the most important day of her life.
Her stepmother, of course, was understanding. "There's no need to be anxious, dear. It doesn't take a genius to notice that man's mad about you. And if you're unhappy with him, you know you always have a home with your father and me."
She nodded, though her face had fallen stony in its lock-jawed grimace. Her home in Dovia certainly wasn't near, but it was by no means an impossible journey--or at least she could tell herself if need be. And there likely wouldn't be a need, as her betrothed was indeed a kind-hearted, honorable sort of man. As for feeling lonely... well, her little half-sister Meraleene would be married come September, also to a man of Naroni, the brother of the duke. She was off speaking with him now, in fact, with her twin sister and Abrich's mother for chaperones. And her stepsister... well, she and that Sir Neilor seemed rather fond of each other, so perhaps something might happen on that front?
And it wasn't as if there were any shortage of friendly young women here either. She wouldn't be lonely for long, she didn't think. Still. It was a change. Most of the major changes in Cladelia's life, for all she'd dreaded them as they'd approached, had been for the better: her father marrying Danthia, gaining Tivie as a stepsister, the birth of each of her little siblings.
Of course, the first change that always came to mind was her mother's suicide. Perhaps it wasn't such a mystery, her consistent assumption that every change could only bring misery.
"I agree," piped up Tivie from the couch, their mutual Aunt Celina nodding beside her. "I especially like the gold trim; it makes the dress more interesting. Most white dresses are so dull."
Danthia shot her daughter a sharp glare. "Tivie!"
"They are, though." Tivie shrugged, flippant and unfiltered as always. Her mother continued to frown and Aunt Celina struggled to look accordingly disapproving, but Cladelia knew better; Aunt Celina, she recalled, hadn't worn white at her wedding. "And it's impractical--you can't get the stains out and there's no use for the dress afterwards other than to cut it up for rags. If I ever get married, have them make me something in a nice dark green."
Cladelia followed her aunt to the other couch, contemplating Tivie's chosen garb as she took her seat. It did take her mind off the wedding, which was more than welcome; she found she had to ask. "Why dark green?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Her stepsister flashed a wicked grin. "For rolling in the grass afterwards."
Aunt Celina snorted. Smiling politely herself, Cladelia looked back over at Danthia. Her stepmother could be as strict and prudent as anyone else's mother at times, but at others...
"And why," Danthia questioned, "would you still be wearing the dress for that?"
Cladelia choked out a giggle. That, exactly.
Someone knocked at the door--a man, from the sounds of it, and for all most knocks sounded alike Cladelia did know her father's. The warmth of a blush spread from her cheeks and she couldn't guess at how to fight it. "He's not supposed to see me before the ceremony!"
"Oh, it might not be him, honey." Her stepmother reached across the couch and took her face in her hands, her fingers a calming cool against Cladelia's burning skin. "Most men have the good sense to not pester their brides before the wedding, lest the bride's stepmother unleash her wrath upon him. Probably just your grandfather--or perhaps Sir Neilor calling on Tivie," Danthia added with a wink her daughter's way.
Tivie laughed. "If you're not the bridegroom, come on in!"
The door opened. It definitely wasn't the bridegroom. Or her grandfather. Or Sir Neilor.
Cladelia hadn't seen her Uncle Searle since her grandmother's funeral, and only a handful of times before that. She didn't know much about him, except that he was Danthia's first husband and Tivie's father and Cladelia's mother's twin, and that he now lived in Carvallon with a sickly second wife who wasn't much older than Cladelia herself was. Oh, and that Tivie had ran off in search of him only months before, and that Danthia and Aunt Celina had ended up chasing after her. Not exactly the kind of awkwardness she wanted to be dealing with less than an hour before her wedding.
"Ladies."
"Father," Tivie muttered while Aunt Celina nodded and Danthia gnawed at her lip.
Cladelia swallowed. "Uncle Searle."
He stiffened, as he always seemed to do when she addressed him as such. But she supposed it wasn't too surprising; from what she knew, he'd always been a bit... off. "It, uh... it's not a problem for me to be here, is it? I just want to pay my respects to the bride."
He was looking at Danthia, which was fitting as it was she he had wronged the most, she and Tivie. But instead of snapping herself upright and demanding that he get out, she sniffed and shrugged him off coolly. "It's Cladelia's day. She can decide whether she wants you here or not."
Her uncle's eyes flickered her way. Something welling in her throat, Cladelia glanced to the other couch. Tivie didn't offer much help, mainly making a point to keep herself composed; Aunt Celina just turned her nose toward her brother and gave a non-committal hand gesture, probably something along the lines of 'your choice'. She supposed the best way to go about this was to avoid any further tension. "It's all right."
She stood, trying to smile as her uncle approached. He landed a kiss to her brow, then stepped back and looked her in the eye. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you, Uncle." His grin twitched, but she decided to ignore it. "I'm glad you could make it."
Her uncle beamed, not unlike her own father had just last night before she'd retired. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 17, 1180
"So... standing around in the rain is preferable to a visit with your ex-wife and your sister?"
Celina had meant it as a joke, but Searle just crossed his arms and continued to stare oceanward without so much of a twitch of his head to acknowledge her. She could admit to herself that it had been foolish to expect much more. She'd never been one for telling jokes, and he'd never been one for hearing them.
"Fine. Ignore me."
From what she could see, her brother was intent on doing just that--at least, until a minute or so breezed by and she hadn't so much as rustled to hint at her exit.
"Why are you here, Celina?"
His back remained to her, so she indulged herself with a smirk. "Out here with you right this second, or here in Carvallon?" Searle shrugged. Helpfulness had never been his strong suit. "Just looking out for your best interests. I'm the only sister you have left, you know; Mother made me promise I'd keep an eye on all my idiot brothers.
"That and the whole thing is sort of my fault."
Her brother sniffled. The weather in part, no doubt, but he rarely came closer to laughter. "You mentioned my whereabouts to Danthia. It's hardly your fault if Tivie happened to overhear."
"I meant for her to overhear." At last, he turned to look at her. Meddlesome as he seemed to think her--meddlesome as she was, though she wasn't about to say it aloud--she wasn't sure why it came as a surprise. Surely the odds of Tivie having been in the next room and Celina having been aware of this weren't exactly mind-blowing? "I told you I'd take care of it, didn't I?"
"Yes, because sending a sixteen-year-old girl off alone on a cross-continental journey is the solution to all of life's problems, isn't it?"
"If you doubt her capabilities, then clearly you haven't taken any chance to get to know her." She shook out her rain-weighted hair despite the fact that it wasn't going to get any dryer. Her husband would have scolded her for leaving the house without her hat, but she would have only shrugged him off like she always did. "Besides, what are Neilor and Landus? Her saddlebags?"
He grunted. Maybe Celina hadn't be the only one to catch that quick brush of hands before Neilor had gone to wake his brother. At least Searle had managed the tact to refrain from comment. "Well, I suppose there's no point worrying now. We all know she's safe."
"That we do." If only to annoy him, she flashed him the widest little sister smile she could manage. She didn't think she'd tried so hard since she'd told Tarien she wanted a pony. "Now, what do you say we head back inside? I can't be the only one who's damn sick of all this rain."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 17, 1180
"Well, I suppose I can be grateful that she at least got herself here safely," Danthia sighed as she stepped down from the stairs and joined her former husband in the kitchen. His stillness was more than a little puzzling; all these years and she didn't think she'd once seen him sit without fidgeting like he wanted little more than to get up and leave.
Then again, she'd never seen him at home. "So I take it she's not--?"
"Grounded until the birth of her first child? Oh, she definitely is." And given how long Tivie had been gone and how far she'd traveled--and everything that could have happened between then and now--it was a lucky thing that such an event was well over nine months away. "But her well-being is more important; I needed her to know that, so I just looked her over and gave her a hug and said we'd talk once we both got our thoughts together. Celina's bracing her for the worst, no doubt."
She pulled up the nearest chair and settled herself in. She supposed she could work out her feelings around Searle. She didn't want to risk giving her daughter the wrong idea, but she felt no similar concern toward Searle. And why should she? He'd certainly never given her that courtesy.
"Speaking of my sister, why is she here?"
"Moral support, mainly." Searle raised an eyebrow, and not without reason. But she doubted he knew his sister as well as he'd have himself think. "She called just as I was about to leave and insisted on joining--probably just to make sure I didn't kill you." Not that it had been necessary. If she'd gone through their entire marriage without killing him, then she clearly had no such intentions.
"And Sidwein had nothing to say about that?"
"Sidwein has no say in what Celina does. I sent my son with a message, but we left before he did, so it's not as if Sidwein had a chance to object." She dragged the chair forward with her ankle on its leg and set an elbow on the table top. "Besides, it works out well enough given that we might meet them halfway. Nythran and the children are heading to Naroni, and if Sidwein heeds Primus, he and little Haldred will join them. He has a brother he barely knows there anyway."
Searle sniffed. "What business does your family have in Naroni?"
"You don't know?" He shook his head. The response both surprised her and failed to do the same. "Doesn't your father-in-law write to you?"
"He writes to Viridis, and I respect my wife's privacy."
"Of course you do." It was perhaps the only part of being a husband she recalled him having mastered. "I suppose it must have slipped her mind. But anyway, it's your niece. Cladelia."
Searle's eye twitched. Beyond that, however, his stoicism was so complete she thought it almost forced. "Riona's eldest?"
Danthia nodded. "She's marrying one of your cousins--Karlspan, your Aunt Renata's youngest boy. He squired for Lord Severin before he was knighted last fall."
"Huh." Searle pressed his hand to his chin and slumped forward. "It didn't occur to me that Cladelia was old enough to be married."
"Well, you ought to get used to the idea, since Tivie's less than a year younger." Another twitch of his eye. Tivie had asked about Searle a few times, and one of the few details Danthia had given was that she had her father's eyes. She'd been wrong, though. Tivie had gotten her eyes from her father... but they were his father's eyes. Searle had his mother's eyes, which were nearly as startling, but the fact that she'd forgotten was yet another reminder of how little they'd known each other. They weren't even close to the same shade. "Anyway, we'll be there early to help with the preparations--apparently the castle needs some serious work--but the wedding isn't until June. You have plenty of time to consider coming."
He sniffed. "Do you think I should?"
"You're the bride's uncle, and the groom's cousin, and the father of Cladelia's stepsister." For all facts had traditionally held any sway over Searle. "You figure it out."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 17, 1180
Viridis was still asleep, or at least she had been when Searle had dressed. He'd yet to see any signs of his children or Neilor this morning either. He supposed he envied them that. If he'd managed a wink of sleep all night, he might have still been in bed, nestled beneath a soft blanket, arms around his wife's warm body.
But here he was, out on the cold beach as the sea claimed any raindrop that dared approach, a certain calm-before-the-storm quiet lurking about in spite of the tide and the rain and the playful yapping of the dogs.
It wasn't that he disliked seeing his children--far from it. If he had, why would he have bothered speaking to Landus at the tournament? Why would he have sought out Tivalia at his mother's funeral? But perhaps he had grown too used to not getting what he wanted. It was how he'd been raised, he supposed; he'd never wanted for any material good, of course, but in terms of deeper, more desperate desires he'd been granted precious few. He supposed there had come a point when he'd started denying himself these things out of habit.
Now that two of his children had actually sought him out--at least one of them on her own accord--he did not know what to do with that.
Prince barked, seemingly at nothing, but that happened from time to time; he was growing more than a little senile in his old age. It wasn't until Luna dashed around Searle's back and tugged at his coat that he sensed the calm had cleared and the storm had come at last.
"What is it, girl?" he muttered as he let the rabbit-eared dog turn him about. Prince growled in the direction of the house; Searle took that for a clue and looked, watching as two figures emerged from along the side.
Female, both of them--he could tell as much from their builds, even if the air was still cold enough to require the added warmth of a bulky cloak--and not of any insignificant standing if the vibrancy of their garb and the crispinettes on their heads had anything to say about it. The one in back wore blue, her bound hair a dull orange-red like Searle's own. The green-clad woman in front also had red hair, but it was richer, darker, not unlike...
...shit.
So much for thinking he'd had enough ghosts to confront in a twenty-four hour period.
"Hello, Searle."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 16, 1180
It had occurred to Viridis as she'd ushered Tivie up to the loft that she wasn't sure if she'd locked the door. A break-in wasn't overly likely--they were offset enough from the nearest village that any would-be intruder would have to go out of his way--but it stood to reason that with no neighbors, any unannounced nighttime visitor was unlikely to be neighborly, so they made a point to keep the door locked when they turned in for the night.
But tonight, of course, they already had visitors, and not hostile ones--even if they weren't predisposed to be friendly. "So... not tired yet?"
Neilor grunted. "Apparently not."
Searle checked the door--locked, whether Viridis had forgotten or Neilor had noticed it or the bolt had just taken to moving itself. They'd put Neilor and Landus in the guest room by the kitchen, a room that had never been slept in; there had been no previous guests to vouch for the temperature or the state of the mattress or the thickness of the blankets, and Neilor might have been out here for any one of those reasons. That lack of knowledge was why he'd given Tivie the loft... well, that and his not wanting his daughter in the same bed as a young man, for all one of the two options was her brother. He and Viridis had both spent enough time in that loft to know it was comfortable.
Well... except for the bed. Searle had made that bed around the time he'd made the crib, knowing it would only be a matter of time before it was needed. That child would have been nearing five now.
"Do you want something? Or are you just going to stare?"
So Neilor didn't like him any more than Ellona did. Not that Searle could have expected much, especially now that Neilor knew Tivie. She couldn't have dragged the kid all the way from Naroni without sharing some grievance or another--of which there were, Searle knew for a fact, many.
"You, uh... you fought well at that tournament." It was the only excuse that came to mind, at least aside from the more patronizing 'You've grown up' and the undoubtedly ill-timed 'So, you've spent quite a bit of time with my little girl these past few weeks'.
The young man shrugged. "Not well enough. But that was... what, three years ago now? Why do you even mention it?"
"I don't know. Because I was there, I guess." Neilor brushed that aside with a dismissive sweep of the eyes. Searle scuffed his boot against the floor. "I spoke with Landus, you know--right after your last fight. Did he tell you that?"
"No." A further inquiry might have been in order, but it seemed Neilor wasn't in the business of giving damns.
Or maybe he was--just for someone else. "He's a good kid, you know. Your brother."
"Oh, so you've seen him twice in his life and you now know him better than I do?"
Searle flinched. He wasn't sure why. He supposed he deserved it.
"You know what? Just... don't talk to me, all right?" The knuckles of Neilor's left hand twitch, as if he was struggling not to make a fist. "What business do you have with me, anyway? I'm not the one whose life you ruined."
NEXT CHAPTER:
