03. Heartache

Sometimes, Rosslyn found herself questioning if she was the adopted one. She and Michelle had never been close, and Michelle, fueled by some unknown resentment, constantly found ways to accuse Rosslyn of things she had never done. And, inevitably, her parents would always side with Michelle, believing her every word without question. It was a pattern that had been repeating itself for years, each instance chipping away at Rosslyn's young heart, leaving her feeling fragmented and lost.

She shoved aside her thoughts, her heart hardened by years of rejection and the constant sting of her family’s indifference. Showing her pain to them felt like a foolish endeavor, a futile attempt to reach out to a group of people who seemed determined to keep her at bay. She had learned to build a wall around her heart, a fortress that kept her safe from further hurt.

She pushed aside the bowl of soup her mother had offered, her voice cool and distant. "A warm milk, if you don't have a prepared soup." She looked directly at the maid she had spoken to earlier, her gaze unwavering.

"Don't you like the soup your mother had given you, either?" Mrs. Monterey inquired, her voice laced with a sharp edge of disdain.

Rosslyn's gaze darted away, unable to meet Mrs. Monterey's eyes. The memory of that day, when she was fourteen and had dared to confess her feelings for Damian, flooded back. She had approached Mrs. Monterey, a blush rising on her cheeks, her heart pounding with nervous anticipation. But Mrs. Monterey had only met her with a cold, dismissive stare, her disgust palpable. "I would never allow my son to marry someone like you," she had declared, her voice dripping with disdain.

Rosslyn took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. "It's not that I don't like the soup, Mrs. Monterey," she said, her voice measured. "I have a severe shrimp allergy."

A heavy silence descended upon the table. For a moment, no one dared to speak. Then, Mr. Monterey, his voice surprisingly gentle, broke the silence. "Just get her the milk, so she can eat in peace."

Rosslyn met his gaze, surprised by the unexpected kindness. For the first time, she sensed a sliver of neutrality in his demeanor; he didn't seem to favor or hate her, a feeling she had never experienced before.

"Just get that woman a glass of milk, then," Travis interjected, his voice laced with impatience. "So we can eat in peace."

She let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping as the maid placed a glass of milk in front of her. As if on cue, everyone at the table rose to their feet, their plates cleared, their conversation resuming as if she were an invisible presence. They didn't even pause, not for a second, to allow her to finish her drink.

Rosslyn sighed in defeat, her milk finished, a single banana eaten in a hurried attempt to appease her rumbling stomach. She stood up from her chair, a feeling of profound loneliness settling over her.

Instead of heading to the rest area, her feet took her instinctively to the balcony. From her vantage point, she watched Damian and Vivian locked in an embrace, their closeness a stark contrast to the distance she had always felt from him. A single tear escaped from her left eye, tracing a path down her cheek. The scene, so ordinary, so full of affection, felt like a thousand knives twisting in her heart.

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