Gianna waited a moment. All she received was an indistinct hum from Wendy.


    She puffed out her lips, halfining, half-yful. "Mom, what''s so interesting about fabric swatches? Are they really prettier than your daughter? Look, I even lined up to buy Palmier from Rise & Shine, that old bakery. Do you want one now?" She slid into the seat beside her, leaning in close.


    She ced the pastry box on the table and looked at Wendy expectantly.


    Only then did Wendy lift her gaze from the fabric catalog. When her eyes met Gianna''s bright, eager stare, her lips curved faintly.


    Gianna smiled without thinking. She reached to open the box when Wendy spoke up calmly, "I already had breakfast. Leave it forter."


    It was like a ssh of cold water to Gianna. Her smile stiffened before she forced a pout. "Oh, okay. Look, I brought you flowers too. Aren''t they beautiful? I picked every single stem myself."


    She drew out arge bouquet from behind her back.


    It was a bouquet of carnations inyered hues, the colors elegant and carefully bnced, eye-catching without being loud.


    She looked at Wendy with cautious devotion, softening her voice into a coaxing whine. "Mom, can we arrange them together?"


    Wendy''s gaze drifted to the bouquet without conscious intent.


    Carnations were flowers meant for mothers. She studied the bouquet. The carnations were fresh, dewy, and clearly prepared with care. Her eyes slowly lost focus.


    In this lifetime, she had given birth to one son and one daughter.


    Her son had never been the romantic type; his gifts were always practical luxuries like jewelry, shoes, and purses.


    Once, on her birthday, he had even given her a full medical checkup package.


    Carnations had nevere from him.


    Gianna, on the other hand, brought them every year.


    Wendy lifted her eyes to Gianna''s face, which was filled with cautious admiration. A thought slipped through her defenses. If my daughter were still alive, would she be like Gianna now, as lovely as a flower, gazing at me with the same longing affection, holding out a bouquet of carnations meant for her mother?


    Yet, she knew the truth with brutal rity-her daughter was gone. No matter how convincing Gianna tried to be, no matter how skillfully she blurred the lines, she was not her daughter.


    Gianna was nothing more than the sugar-coated bullet Timothy White had delivered straight to her doorstep.


    Does he really think Gianna can be a substitute for my lost daughter, or a cure to help me forget?


    Well, dream on!


    The pain of losing a child was carved into bone, gouged into the heart. It could not be reced, softened, or healed away.


    Wendy felt a sharp ache in her chest. The warmth in her eyes cooled instantly.


    When Gianna reached out to pull the fabric catalog from her hands, Wendy tightened her grip without warning.


    Gianna froze, startled, and looked up. Wendy stood. "Gianna. Come with me."


    She turned and walked upstairs without another word.


    Gianna''s expression flickered, resentment and darkness shing beneath the surface, before she carefully masked it and followed.


    Inside the study, Wendy opened a drawer, took something out, and ced it on the desk. "This was you, wasn''t it?"


    Gianna looked down, and her heart sank. It was the pregnancy test report.


    Unlike yesterday, it had been sealed in stic. The small tear she had identally made before had been painstakingly repaired, but the damage was still visible.


    It could no longer be tucked away and carried close like before.


    Wendy''s expression was calm, but Gianna''s palm was filled with cold sweat. "Mom, I—"


    Wendy raised a hand, stopping her. "Gianna, don''t call me Mom anymore. You know very well that I''m not your mother."


    During the first two years after Gianna was born, she herself had been barely holding together.


    She had divorced Adrian. Her mental illness came in waves, sometimes manageable, sometimes crushing.


    There were weeks when she barely spoke at all.


    Back then, Wendy''s sister—that


    would be Pepper-had handed her daughter over to Timothy. He raised


    the child as his own and never


    ???


    rified Granna''s true identity to the outside world.


    Wendy''s second pregnancy hadn''t gone smoothly either. She kept to herself rarely appearing in public. So, people only knew she was wase


    pregnant, but no one knew how far along she was.


    Gianna was born two or three months after Wendy''s daughter. Even if a few familiar families sensed that the timeline didn''t quite add up seeing Adrian holding Gianna and introducing her as his


    daughter they assumed their


    memories were wrong.


    And just like that, Gianna grew up in the Malone household as the eldest daughter.


    By the time Wendy slowly wed her way out of the fog, Gianna was already


    toddling on unsteady legs, calling her ''Mom'' in a soft, clinging voice.


    Adrian had brought the little girl to her. She wobbled toward Wendy, arms outstretched, calling her ''Mom''.


    After all, Gianna was her own niece. Wendy could not bring herself to shatter a


    baby''s fragile heart, so she neither exined herself to others nor personally refuted anything.