The milk was slightly cool to the taste, with a strange, cloying sweetness. Clara frowned, but still forced herself to drink it down.
She thought that even if it was the last time, she wanted to preserve some of the warmth between mother and daughter.
That night, Clara was trapped in a hazy, half-awake state.
The bedroom door wasn't closed properly, and Liam's voice, mixed with suggestive breathing, drifted in, clear as if right next to his ear: "That waist... it's so damn thin... Teacher Vanessa, you're even more alluring than when she wore a dance dress back in the day..." This was followed by the rhythmic rustling of fabric and Vanessa's soft, sweet laughter: "Mr. Liam, be gentle... Lila's still in the next room..."
Clara spent a chaotic night, unsure whether it was a dream or reality. Her heart felt like it had been struck by a heavy hammer, the pain almost suffocating her.
She vaguely remembered that seven years ago, Liam had whispered the same thing in her ear, saying that her waist when she danced Swan Lake was "God's masterpiece" and that he would give her the best things in the world.