Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 141: Chapter 141
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Even Lawrence Bennett stood there with her.
A blur of memory surfaced: every weekend she used to return from boarding school, and they would stand just like this, waiting at the door.
But those days could never return, and there was no way they had invited her today just to share a meal.
They already had Annabelle; why would they want dinner with a counterfeit daughter?
Adaline called from the doorway, "Elena, you're back. Come inside—the house is warm."
Elena nodded and dodged the hand that reached for hers.
True enough, neither Annabelle nor Julian was home.
Adaline said, "Elena, sit with your father for a bit. I'm personally cooking lunch—all the dishes you loved as a child."
She remained expressionless and gave a slight nod.
Lawrence gazed at her with gentle eyes. "Elena, we haven't had a heart-to-heart in ages. Come to the back yard with Dad."
"All right."
Lawrence walked ahead.
A glasshouse sat in the back yard; sunlight slanted through the panes, keeping the interior pleasantly warm.
Lawrence looked up and asked, "Elena, do you remember how this glasshouse came about?"
"I remember."
Still smiling, he said, "You loved to run outdoors and hated the dry air of central heating. I worried you'd catch cold, so I built this glasshouse for you."
Inside, flowers crowded every corner, and a wooden swing hung at the center.
The sight of the blossoms made Elena's heart twist.
Yes, he had built all this for her; yet right here Julian had slapped her for knocking over Annabelle's flowerpot, leaving her deaf for half a month.
Did he even remember that?
Lawrence walked to the swing and chuckled. "I made this with my own hands as well; you used to love sitting here. My palms were bleeding by the time I finished—do you still remember?"
Elena lowered her head; of course she remembered.
While she suffered later on, she survived by clinging to memories like these.
Yet every recollection now sliced across her heart like a blade.
"What good is remembering? I'd rather you'd been cruel from the start."
At least then she wouldn't hurt now.
Lawrence's face went rigid. "Elena..."
She turned away. "Let's go. I don't like it here anymore."
Back in the living room, she found Adaline busy in the kitchen.
A professional chef was present, yet Adaline insisted on cooking herself.
She moved awkwardly, and soon a sharp cry rang out.
She had spilled hot soup over the back of her hand.
Elena pressed her lips together, watched a moment, and then walked in.
While running her hand under cold water, Adaline managed a smile. "Elena, I made your favorite lotus-root pork rib soup. I'm so clumsy I splashed it on myself—wait outside and I'll bring you a bowl."
Ignoring the burn, she ladled a bowl and carried it to Elena.
"Taste it while it's hot."
Elena took a spoonful, her face unreadable. "What is it you really want to say?"
Another performance of self-pity, another pitch for family ties—that was all.
Adaline suddenly clamped her fingers around Elena's hand.
A blur of memory surfaced: every weekend she used to return from boarding school, and they would stand just like this, waiting at the door.
But those days could never return, and there was no way they had invited her today just to share a meal.
They already had Annabelle; why would they want dinner with a counterfeit daughter?
Adaline called from the doorway, "Elena, you're back. Come inside—the house is warm."
Elena nodded and dodged the hand that reached for hers.
True enough, neither Annabelle nor Julian was home.
Adaline said, "Elena, sit with your father for a bit. I'm personally cooking lunch—all the dishes you loved as a child."
She remained expressionless and gave a slight nod.
Lawrence gazed at her with gentle eyes. "Elena, we haven't had a heart-to-heart in ages. Come to the back yard with Dad."
"All right."
Lawrence walked ahead.
A glasshouse sat in the back yard; sunlight slanted through the panes, keeping the interior pleasantly warm.
Lawrence looked up and asked, "Elena, do you remember how this glasshouse came about?"
"I remember."
Still smiling, he said, "You loved to run outdoors and hated the dry air of central heating. I worried you'd catch cold, so I built this glasshouse for you."
Inside, flowers crowded every corner, and a wooden swing hung at the center.
The sight of the blossoms made Elena's heart twist.
Yes, he had built all this for her; yet right here Julian had slapped her for knocking over Annabelle's flowerpot, leaving her deaf for half a month.
Did he even remember that?
Lawrence walked to the swing and chuckled. "I made this with my own hands as well; you used to love sitting here. My palms were bleeding by the time I finished—do you still remember?"
Elena lowered her head; of course she remembered.
While she suffered later on, she survived by clinging to memories like these.
Yet every recollection now sliced across her heart like a blade.
"What good is remembering? I'd rather you'd been cruel from the start."
At least then she wouldn't hurt now.
Lawrence's face went rigid. "Elena..."
She turned away. "Let's go. I don't like it here anymore."
Back in the living room, she found Adaline busy in the kitchen.
A professional chef was present, yet Adaline insisted on cooking herself.
She moved awkwardly, and soon a sharp cry rang out.
She had spilled hot soup over the back of her hand.
Elena pressed her lips together, watched a moment, and then walked in.
While running her hand under cold water, Adaline managed a smile. "Elena, I made your favorite lotus-root pork rib soup. I'm so clumsy I splashed it on myself—wait outside and I'll bring you a bowl."
Ignoring the burn, she ladled a bowl and carried it to Elena.
"Taste it while it's hot."
Elena took a spoonful, her face unreadable. "What is it you really want to say?"
Another performance of self-pity, another pitch for family ties—that was all.
Adaline suddenly clamped her fingers around Elena's hand.
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 141. Continue reading Chapter 142 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.