At this moment, Aoife’s eyes only showed indifference and impatience when she looked at Finn.
Under her piercing gaze, Finn often wondered if the woman who once looked at him with nostalgia and tenderness truly existed.
Finn didn’t want to see Aoife’s eyes like this.
He felt he had done enough. Although he had been reckless and disrespectful towards Aoife in the past, he had not seen his own heart clearly. He was too arrogant, forgetting that some people and things needed humility to understand.
Now, he reflected on his mistakes, giving up the inheritance of the Burns family for Aoife, completely offending Old Burns. He didn’t know how many people were mocking and scheming against him behind his back now.
Finn couldn’t understand. He had gone to such lengths for Aoife, wanting to be with her wholeheartedly, seeking her forgiveness. Why did she still hate him so much?
Even murderers have the chance to face trial in court, but Aoife opted to strike him down.
Finn wanted to cover Aoife’s eyes with his hands, as if by doing so, he wouldn’t feel her hatred.
Reaching out, Finn touched the scar on Aoife’s right cheek, then recoiled slightly. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Aoife, can we not mention that word ‘death’? I know I’ve done many wrongs. You can do whatever you want to me in retaliation, hit me or scold me, but please don’t ignore me, don’t leave me. I just want you to be okay.”
The person who had caused her the most harm was now asking for her well-being. How ironic.
Aoife chuckled. Her half-perfect left cheek contrasted even more sharply with the scars on her right side.
“Finn, have you fallen for me?” Aoife could never see through Finn. He rarely displayed his emotions on his face, always coming off as cynical and emotionally detached. It was hard to imagine him falling for anyone.
Would someone like Finn fall for someone? Did he even understand what it meant to like someone?
At this moment, Aoife saw a hint of longing in Finn’s indifferent eyes.
“What if I have?” Finn took a deep breath. “Aoife, remember, you were the one who liked me first, right? Now I like you. Can you give me a chance?”
Aoife hesitated for a moment, then burst into laughter as if she had heard the funniest joke ever.
Can you believe it? Finn said he liked her? The same Finn who treated her as a substitute, hit her, forced her to film humiliating videos, treated her as a tool for pleasure, imprisoned her, and harmed those around her. Now he claimed to love her?
Was she hallucinating? Was she dreaming, or had Finn taken the wrong medication?
“A chance?” Aoife raised her hand to touch the scar on her right cheek, her gaze dark. “Do you think I haven’t given you enough chances? Finn, you like me now, where were you all this time? Look at the scar on my face. Look at it properly! Why do you like me? Where were you earlier, huh?” Aoife’s emotions escalated as she spoke, almost screaming at Finn, the taste of blood filling her throat.
Finn was a stickler for looks. He admired everything beautiful. The fact that he had tortured Elisa all over her body but never touched her face showed how much he valued appearance.
Finn’s breath trembled. Aoife wasn’t just scarred on her face; she had a scar on her belly too.
He wanted to touch her, but every time he saw the scars on her face and belly, he couldn’t bring himself to. The scar on her face reminded him of how much she hated him now. The scar on her belly reminded him of the cruel things he had done to Aoife.
Scars would fade with time, and maybe so would the hatred. He had a lifetime to slowly mend the damage, this one moment wouldn’t make a difference.
Finn got off the bed and lay down on the sofa.
Aoife lay on the bed, her emotions unable to settle, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
She quietly placed her hand, touching the scar on her right cheek, under the blanket, her belly scar now healed but still painful to touch.
Aoife furrowed her brows weakly, watching Finn sitting on the sofa not far away.
This man had once given her a beacon of hope, only to slowly extinguish it bit by bit, until there was barely a flicker left. He had taken everything away, leaving her with half her life. Aoife didn’t have the time or energy to waste on him.
Her mind was always on high alert, like being trapped in a thorny thicket, any slight movement would leave her covered in wounds. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, it was all torment.
Her doctor had advised her to pay more attention to her emotions. She had suffered from depression before, a disorder that could drive one insane without warning.
Aoife tried to restrain her emotions as much as possible, but every time she saw Finn, a wave of anger surged within her, beyond her control.
She searched online for ways to regulate her emotions – engaging in activities and distracting oneself was the advice. The most recommended activities were gardening, chess, tea-drinking, fishing, and reading. None of which interested Aoife. She used to enjoy writing, but now her mind was blank every time she picked up a pen.
Coincidentally, in the past few days, Finn had brought back her luggage from abroad. Aoife looked at the ball of yarn and decided to start knitting a sweater.
The bag with the sweater supplies sat on the bedside table. During sleepless nights, she would knit, her work fast but often prone to errors, requiring unpicking and starting over, leaving the yarn getting shorter each time.
The pink yarn in her hand was intended for her baby, the patterns and designs all planned out. Although she hadn’t started, the baby was no longer there.
Aoife couldn’t forget. Only those who had experienced pain firsthand couldn’t forget. She would never be able to forget, despite spending a lifetime trying.
The pain etched into her bones was so deep that even thinking about it would make her cry out in pain.
Aoife pressed the half-finished sweater against her heart, the continuous pain seeping out through her blood, suffocating her like a madness-inducing agony, causing her body to tremble.
Since her eyesight worsened, she hadn’t cried. But now, emotions surged unexpectedly, tears streaming down her cheeks uncontrollably.
She missed her baby so much, so much….
Curled up at the edge of the bed, Aoife resumed knitting the sweater, the pink yarn slowly diminishing. She knitted with utmost dedication, as she had when she was still carrying the baby.
Back then, her face bore a smile. Now, her face was wet with tears, the tears gathering on her hand making it uncomfortable, soaking the yarn.
The pattern was complex, her eyesight poor, leading to frequent mistakes and unravelling of stitches.
She knitted during the day as well, refusing to rest, her house staff urging her to take a break as they noticed her bloodshot eyes. The repetitive reminders that knitting was bad for her eyes fell on deaf ears. She wanted to finish the sweater quickly, her baby needed warm clothes. Six months old, naked body exposed to the cold – it was too much.