The wind whipped past Lola, tugging at her wig. Her eyes softened as she stared at the gravestone, which had the inscription: [In Loving Memory of Loren Albert.] Right next to it was a smaller gravestone with a little toy house on top, filled with toys.
That small grave held Lola’s heart: her child.
"I missed you..." she whispered, her eyes falling on her mother’s grave once more. "I really missed you, Mom."
If wishing her father had died instead of her mother was a sin, then Lola was guilty. Perhaps, if Lawrence Young had died, Lola wouldn’t despise him so much.
"But more than I miss you... I’ve always wanted to ask... why him?" She added, her voice quiet and trembling. "A child cannot choose their parents, but you... You could choose who was going to be the father of your children."
In her past life, she had wished many times not to have been born. That her mother had chosen someone else and loved them instead of Lawrence Young. Even if that meant Lola would never exist.
How could she not wish for such a thing when her whole first life was just a series of misfortunes and tragedies? Tragedy orchestrated not just by her half-sister and stepmother, but also by her biological father?
"I’m sorry, Mom," she continued just as quietly, sliding her eyes to the smaller gravestone of her child. "But he... they... are not someone I could ever forgive."
Initially, she had wondered what to do with Lawrence Young and how she could hurt him. She didn’t want to exert more effort, as her existing plans were enough. But now, Lawrence had just pressed a button that Lola had been trying to save him from.
"I’ll hurt him," she muttered, yet despite the quietness of her tone, she carried an unbending resolution. "I’ll keep hitting them in places that will hurt the most, and I’m sorry... for not feeling sorry for them anymore."
Slowly, she stared at her mother’s grave, wiping a single tear that rolled down her cheeks. She lowered her head and then took a step to the smaller grave. She reached out and caressed the toy house, smiling bitterly with eyes full of longing.
She bit her quivering lips, holding back the tears, but to no avail.
"Mommy’s gonna be okay," she whispered, nodding at the gravestone reassuringly. "I just... I just really miss you too."
For a while, Lola idled by the gravesite and cleaned the graves like a grave keeper. She said nothing more, but her sniffs were enough to cut the pure silence that dominated her surroundings.
Once she was able to release the tears of pure sadness that she could only do in this place, she bid them farewell and walked back to her Beetle. As soon as she sat in the driver’s seat, she turned to the window and gazed in the direction where her mother and son rested.
"I’ll be back," she whispered. "And when I do, I’ll be a lot happier."
That was what she hoped—to find happiness in the destruction of those who had destroyed her. Was it right? No. But other than that, she didn’t know where else she could find pure happiness, when no matter how much she looked within herself, she couldn’t find it.
With that thought in mind, Lola was about to drive away when she noticed her phone on the seat, its screen lighting.
"Hmm?" Her brows knitted, and she reached for it.
Seeing Atlas’s unsaved number, she tilted her head to the side. A part of her immediately assumed it was the twins, but since they had only been sending her messages, she answered.
"Mommy~!"
The second the line connected, the twins chorused. "Mommy, whatcha doing~? We miss you~!"
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