A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

But Matilda’s cries couldn’t bring back the man walking away. Yvan had left, and Matilda stared blankly out the window at the protective fence, feeling as though she had been thrown back into a prison cell.

The dark days without a glimmer of light had returned to her mind when she least expected it, and the humiliation she suffered in that cell once again plunged her into a deep fear.

Curled up on the floor, Matilda didn’t even have the strength to crawl into bed. She lay there, hugging herself with a ghostly pallor, as large beads of sweat slid down her forehead, muttering like someone in the throes of hysteria, “Open the door… open the door… let me out… It wasn’t me… I’m not the criminal… let me out….

Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face, her eyes wide with terror, as she helplessly cried out to the empty air for help. “Help me… don’t lock me up… I didn’t kill anyone… it wasn’t me… help me…”

Her world had once again slipped into a nightmare. There was a kind of conditioning that had seeped into her bones; even if her mind had forgotten, her body remembered, sparking reflexive, instinctive reactions. She hugged herself tightly, her knuckles turning white with the strain. This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

But Matilda didn’t realize that her room was soundproofed; no matter how desperately she

screamed for help, no one would come to her salvation.

At the end of this darkness, there was simply no one waiting for her.

“Help me…” In her moment of utter desperation, clutching at her chest and gasping for air, Matilda felt as though her depression was about to destroy her life. She began to hallucinate seeing her brother smiling at her. With hollow eyes, she whispered, “Bro… I really didn’t kill

anyone…”

It wasn’t until the next evening that Yvan opened the room door. He had thought that a day’s confinement would make Matilda calm down, but he was unprepared for the harrowing scene that awaited him.

Matilda was lying on the floor, her left hand clutching a shard from the shattered bedside lamp, embedded deep into the flesh of her palm from the force of her grip, while her right wrist bore the stark new scar of a fresh cut!

Blood had pooled on the floor at some unknown time….

At that moment, Yvan’s soul felt as if a hammer had struck it. His heart pounded violently, his fingertips trembling before he let out a loud cry. “Matilda!”

He rushed forward, lifting Matilda from the ground, her blood fresh and not yet dried, staining. his clothes. Holding Matilda in his arms, his eyes reddened, he rushed frantically out of the house, calling to the nanny at the door, “Quick! Call 911!”

Logan had emerged from the house, alarmed by the commotion, but before he could grasp what was happening, he saw the man he called father rushing out with his mother in his arms. He tried to follow but was stopped by the nanny.

“Is my mom in trouble?”

“Don’t worry, young master. Mr. Boyd is already on it.” the nanny could only restrain him from witnessing the gruesome scene.

The boy glanced down, noticing drops of blood trailing in the direction Yvan had run, leading straight to the front door.

In that moment, a vivid hatred flashed in Logan’s eyes…

The nanny was startled by Logan’s gaze: the look he gave her as he lifted his head sent a chill down her spine.

He was just a five–year–old child. How could he have such a terrifying look in his eyes?