A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

When Matilda woke up the next day, she found herself draped in a luxurious blanket, the kind only Yvan would custom order, monogrammed with his initials at the

corner.

The letters Y.B seemed to scorch into her field of vision like branding iron, and with a jolt, she flung the blanket to the floor, gasping for breath.

Logan, startled by her action, blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to look at her, “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Matilda gathered her wits about her, scoffing at the idea that Yvan would cover her with a blanket. How could that be possible?

“I must’ve fallen asleep with you last night.” Matilda caressed Logan’s face, “Has your fever come down? I should be going now.”

“Don’t go, Mommy!”

Logan clutched the hem of Matilda’s clothes, his voice barely above a whisper, “Can you stay with me just one more day, please?”

Seeing the longing in Logan’s eyes, Matilda couldn’t help but sigh, “I won’t stay the night, but I’ll stay with you until the afternoon, okay?”

Logan nodded, his eyes rimmed with red, “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone in this big house.”

It felt so empty, devoid of family warmth and affection.

Matilda comforted him for a moment before heading downstairs to whip up some breakfast, her movements as fluid as if she’d done this countless times before.

Yvan, who had risen early, was taken aback when he saw the figure bustling about in the kitchen. For a moment, he was transported five years back, to the days when Matilda would rise at dawn to make him breakfast, even though he never once took

it with him.

But now, as he watched her from the staircase, a wave of familiarity washed over him, and he found himself lost in a daze.

Matilda emerged from the kitchen with a plate of sunny–side–up eggs and bacon, her voice cold as she saw Yvan, as if she was merely performing a routine, “I apologize for using the ingredients from your fridge.”

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Her words were flat, but she remembered everything, every piece of furniture in the

kitchen, each steeped in memories.

Matilda’s shoulders trembled as she faced Yvan. She told herself not to be afraid; she

had nothing left to lose.

Yvan noticed Matilda’s slight quiver and stared at her for a long while before uttering an indifferent “Mm–hmm“.

There he was, looking fearless as ever.

Matilda felt like a fool, wounded by memories that, it seemed, had only ever affected her.

She took the breakfast back to Logan’s room, swiftly kicking the door shut with her foot, leaving Yvan on the other side. This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

As if nothing had happened, Yvan continued downstairs, but when he saw another set of sunny–side– up eggs next to the stove, a crack appeared in his usually impassive facade.

Medium–cooked eggs, with runny yolks… that had been his most familiar breakfast five years ago.

Memories, like fleeting shadows, burst forth from the recesses of his mind, and in that split second, his heart seemed to quiver, a sudden pang of ache spreading.

unbidden.

A flicker of surprise crossed Yvan’s handsome face, his pupils contracting slightly as his fingers involuntarily tightened at his side.

Those life details he’d never bothered to look at twice were now the objects of his nostalgia. Was Matilda deliberately leaving this for him?

She never ate her eggs runny; only he preferred eggs cooked soft.