The Day I Stopped Crying

Seeing her standing there—head lowered, face pale—I asked,

"What's wrong? Is something the matter?"

"It's..."

"Just say it."

"Mrs. Sophia is hurt. She's unconscious."

"What?!"

I flinched, instinctively leaning forward in shock.

"Is she okay? What happened? Tell me everything—now."

After hearing Anne's explanation, I rushed to Sophia's room. A doctor was already there tending to her wounds, and Katelyn looked like she could burst into tears at any second.

Sophia lay unconscious in bed.

My hands trembled, and my chest swelled with rage.

"Where are Simon and Carlos?" I asked as I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm.

"They're in the lord's study."

Grinding my teeth, I stormed out of Sophia's room and marched toward my father's study, ready to explode at any moment.

When I arrived, I flung the door open, grabbed a flower vase by the entrance, and without hesitation, strode up to Simon and Carlos.

"What are you—"

I smashed the vase onto the floor near their feet, my face twisted in fury.

Honestly, I wanted to slap them both. But since I was still short and couldn't reach my tall older brothers' cheeks, this was the only thing I could do—though it just made me more frustrated.

"Hey—"

"Are you two children?!" I cut Carlos off, shouting at the top of my lungs.

Maybe they'd never seen me like this before. Both of them froze, speechless.

"..."

"I asked if you're children! Fight each other if you want, but don't drag my people into it. Look what you did to my nanny!"

"Hey, that's because she suddenly—"

"Carlos, that's enough," my father interrupted.

"Odilia, go back to your room. I'll handle this."

"Handle it? How, exactly? My nanny is unconscious!"

"You don't need to involve yourself in this."

My father's voice was heavy, his eyes cold as they met mine.

I flinched, my whole body trembling as I tried to keep my fury in check.

"What is wrong with all of you?" I murmured.

"Lia—" Simon said, his voice filled with concern.

"Don't say my name! And don't touch my people! Just go on ignoring me like you always do."

I shouted, my breath ragged. When none of them responded, I turned toward the door.

Before leaving, I looked back one last time.

"If this ever happens again—I won't let it slide."

I slammed the door behind me and hurried back to Sophia's room.

Back when Anne explained what had happened—

"So... Young Master Carlos suddenly grabbed Young Master Simon's shirt. He looked really angry. A servant nearby said they were arguing about the late Madam Cassey. They didn't catch everything, but... I think it's because the date of her passing is approaching."

That's right. The anniversary of my mother's death was approaching. No wonder all three of them were in such foul moods.

Still, I didn't care what the reason was—none of the servants should ever get caught in their drama. They weren't the only ones who mourned. The staff loved her, too. And so did I.

Sophia probably stepped in to stop their fight and got caught in the chaos.

'I'll make them regret it if that ever happens again.'

I used to hold on to a small hope—that maybe, if I ignored them the way they ignored me, things might change. Maybe they'd begin to understand what I've been going through. Maybe they'd miss me, or even warm up to me again.

But reality didn't match my wish. Instead of warmth, only distance and resentment grew between us.

'Maybe they blame me for Mother's death.'

After all, I was the one who begged her to go to the palace that day.

But I refuse to be the fool who blames herself—or the carriage, or the driver—for something that was out of anyone's hands.

I once read in a book, 'Tragedy strikes when we least expect it.'

That doesn't mean I feel no guilt at all—but seriously, what could an eight-year-old girl have done?

And I respect the choice my mother made. She risked herself to protect me.

What I don't understand is why the adults—who should know better—are the ones drowning in grief, as if they don't even respect her sacrifice.

'Who's really the adult here, anyway?'

I cried. But after wiping my tears, I made a promise.

That this would be the last time I cried for this family.

A few days after that incident, the men of my family and I visited my mother's grave.

None of us said a word. I just stood there, silently watching as the men sobbed in grief.

I didn't shed a single tear.

When we returned to the viscount's manor, I was walking inside when—

"You didn't even cry, huh. Must be nice, being a child."

I stopped in my tracks at Carlos's sneer and replied,

"At least I don't blame an eight-year-old for a tragedy that no one could have prevented. Or... would it have been better if I'd just died with my mother in that accident?"

"!"

All three of them flinched at my words. Before they could say anything, I continued,

"Just ignore me like you always do. Let's all live our own lives, separately."

I shot them one last disdainful look and walked away.

Time passed. Whenever I crossed paths with my father, we ignored each other. Sometimes, I could feel his gaze on me. But I always pretended not to notice.

As the days went by, my father grew more erratic, like he was weighed down by something. He would scream at his aides, sometimes trash his room and throw things. I had no idea what was going on in his head—but honestly, I couldn't care less.

Almost another year had passed before my tenth birthday. By then, my father had become quite a mess.

In the past few months, I often caught him sneaking glances at me whenever we crossed paths. But I always felt those looks were filled with contempt. His gaze was so cold that I eventually stopped caring about him altogether.

Then, a week before my tenth birthday, I asked my maid Katelyn to deliver a message: I wanted my mother's villa on the eastern coast of the kingdom as my birthday gift—and permission to live there with Katelyn and Sophia until my coming-of-age ceremony.

Without much concern, my father granted my request.

I arranged to leave on my birthday. I didn't want to visit my mother's grave with the rest of them when the anniversary came. Instead, I took her last gift with me and prayed in her memory.

It was a pearl—larger than most, about the size of an adult's palm, and a beautiful soft pink.

My mother once told me that the pearl was a piece of her soul.

At the time, I didn't understand what she meant, but anyway, I now see it as a part of her and pray for her through it.

And then, a week later, the day of my departure from the viscount's main estate arrived.

To be continued