So, blood ties meant nothing. Seven years of raising him couldn’t warm his heart.
"You don’t have to acknowledge me," I said, my voice calm. "Because I’m leaving."
——
The sharp scent of paint clung to my skin, stinging my nose and making my eyes water. A burning sensation spread across my face, tightening my expression in discomfort.
Stephen scoffed. "Serves you right! I hope your face rots away completely!"
"You scheming witch! Do you think that by copying my mother’s looks and making people say we resemble each other, you can take her place? Keep dreaming!"
His eyes blazed with fury as if he had suffered the greatest humiliation.
I had seen this tantrum countless times before.
Every time someone pointed out that Stephen didn’t resemble his late mother, that instead, he was starting to look more and more like me, he would explode in anger.
I used to comfort him, reassuring him that he was truly his mother’s son, that the resemblance was just a trick of familiarity from being around me for years.
But today, I didn’t have the patience.
I was exhausted.
I furrowed my brows slightly.