She Was Born Again, So She Stopped Begging For Their Love Chapter 11

She Was Born Again, So She Stopped Begging For Their Love Chapter 11

Grace nodded Walked in. Put her suitcase in the corner. Sat down in another chair

Richard opened his eyes sometime later. His cloudy gaze shifted toward Grace.

He looked at her for a long time. So long she thought he was going to say something important.

Then he said something she would never forget for the rest of her life.

“You look just like your mother when she was young.”

Grace’s eyelashes fluttered.

She looked at the dying man in the bed. The man she had called “Dad” for thirty-five years. The man who had never held her, never praised her, never once said “happy birthday.”

He said she looked like her mother.

Not “you look like your mother.” But “you look just like your mother when she was young.”

She suddenly understood something.

She remembered fragments of her past life.

Linda had been beautiful when she was young. Strong-willed. Proud. Would never show weakness.

She married Richard. Had Grace. But her heart never truly belonged to this family.

She was too strong to need anyone. Even her own daughter.

Grace suddenly realized she wasn’t different from Linda.

She was just like her.

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Just as stubborn. Just as proud. Just as unwilling to bend. Just as likely to shoulder everything alone rather than say, “I need you,”

Linda didn’t not love her. She just didn’t know how to love.

Because Linda herself had never been truly loved.

But this realization came too late.

Thirty-five years too late. Thirty-two years too late. Too late for any chance of reconciliation.

Richard didn’t make 1 rbrough that winter

The day he died, it snowed heavily Just like the day Gitare died in her past life

She stood in the hospital corridor, watching the nurse pull the white sheet over Richard’s Jaon Linda stood nearby. Not crying. Just standing there. Like a tree struck by lightning on the misubte. slie looked fine, but inside, she was hollow.

Chloe came, sobbing, supported by her husband.

When she saw Grace, she rushed over and hugged her. “Grace, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Grace didn’t know what she was apologizing for.

For taking her parents? For never speaking up for her all these years? For not visiting when she died in her past life?

None of it mattered anymore.

In the face of death, all the “I’m sorry”s and “it’s okay”s were as light as the snow outside the

window. They fell and melted.

Grace patted Chloe’s back. “Don’t cry.”

Then she walked over to Linda.

Linda looked up at her. In her eyes-once cold, impatient, always looking past Grace toward

someone else—there was nothing left.

Not tenderness. Not guilt. Not love. Just a hollow, disoriented emptiness.

Grace opened her mouth to speak.

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She wanted to say, “Mom, I forgive you.” But she couldn’t. Because she hadn’t.

She wanted to say, “Mom, come live with me.” But she didn’t want to. Because she had gotten used

to life without Linda.

So she said nothing. She just reached out and took Linda’s hand.

Linda’s hands were cold. Knobby knuckles. Rough skin.

– Not the hands of someone who had lived an easy life. Hands that had done countless chores,

shouldered countless worries, but never complained because they were too proud.

Grace held those hands and felt a deep, nameless sorrow.

For Linda. For herself. For everyone who didn’t know how to love.

After the funeral, Grace went back to the Bennett house.

The house where she had lived for over a decade was old now.

The wallpaper was peeling. The floor was stained. The paint was chipping off the stair railing. The

roses in the garden had long since withered.

Linda lived there alone. Chloe visited sometimes.

Grace walked into her room.

The north-facing room. Freezing in winter.

She opened the door and froze.

The room was spotless.

New sheets. New curtains-warm yellow. On the desk, a picture frame with a photo of her as a child.

Her hair in two little braids, smiling so wide her missing front teeth showed.

She didn’t even remember this photo being taken. She had never seen it before.

Next to the picture frame was a note in Linda’s handwriting. The letters were crooked, like she had

written it over and over. “Grace, I’m sorry.”

Grace stood there for a long time, holding the note.

The snow was still falling outside. Flake by flake, landing on the windowsill, in the withered

garden, on this apology thirty-five years overdue.

She finally cried.

Not loud sobs. Silent, shaking, whole-body crying.

She crouched down in that room that had once made her so cold, crying like a thirteen-year old girl.

But this time, no one would come to bring her warm inilk. No one would knock on her door to ask what was wrong. No one cared if she was crying.

She had finally heard the “I’m sorry” she had waited thirty-five years for.

But it was already too late.

The grandmother who made her briskets was gone.

The boy who stood under the streetlight to give her birthday presents was gone. And she, Grace, was no longer capable of loving anyone.

She had protected herself so well. So well that she was invincible. Untouchable. No one could ever

hurt her again.

But that also meant no one could ever reach her heart.

She got independence. She got freedom. She got everything she wanted.

The only thing she didn’t get was happiness.