Chapter 10: A Daughter’s Memories
Emily sat with Clara in the garden, the early morning sun filtering through the trees. It was a space that had once been forbidden to her, a place where she had been told she wasn't worthy to walk. Now, it was her sanctuary. Memories returned in fragments—the way her grandfather used to tell her stories, the secret garden where they planted roses, the feeling of being protected.
"I remember," Emily said, her voice soft but steady. "I remember a house that smelled like pine. I remember... a fire." She looked at Clara, whose eyes filled with renewed pain. "It wasn't an accident, was it?" Clara shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They wanted the land, Emily. They took everything to build their towers of glass."
Daniel watched them from the terrace, a cup of untouched coffee in his hand. He was the one who had provided the money for the towers, the one who had unknowingly fueled the engine of his daughter’s misery. The irony was a bitter pill, one he swallowed with every breath. He realized he couldn't undo the past, but he could certainly ensure that the people responsible for it had no future.
