I thought so too.
Until today.
Now I knew the truth. Every ounce of suffering I'd endured—it all traced back to Norma.
The soup crashed to the ground, and the sound cut through the room.
Inside, Norma froze. She set down the admission letter and stepped outside, her expression guarded.
When she saw it was me, that wariness didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened.
"What are you doing here?"
"How long have you been standing there?"
Two rapid-fire questions, like an interrogation.
My heart went cold.
I wanted to ask her—after burning my admission letters all those times, didn't she feel even a shred of guilt?
But I knew the answer better than she did.
No. She didn't.
She was just like Louise. The only person in her heart was my brother. Percival.
I swallowed the accusations rising in my throat and forced my voice to stay casual.
"I just got here. I heard your parents were coming, so I made some soup for everyone. Didn't expect to spill it..."
Norma's gaze dropped to my scalded hand, the skin an angry red. Her expression softened. She pulled me inside to treat it.
"You—I told you to leave these things to me, didn't I?"
"Let me put some oil on this first. I'll take you into town to get it looked at."