After he killed my daughter, he knelt down and begged me for forgiveness

This wasn't a proper cemetery—weeds choked everything, and jagged rocks jutted from the earth.

I stopped in front of an inconspicuous dirt mound tucked in the corner. No headstone.

I pulled a plastic bag from the bike basket. Inside: three pieces of chocolate and a few pages of sheet music, rain-soaked and yellowed. The chocolate had started to melt.

I set them in front of the mound and reached out to pull up the new weeds around it.

"Lily, Mom's here."

I sat on the gravelly ground and stroked the dirt with my crippled right hand.

"Still no money for a cake this year. Mom's useless."

The wind blew.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and unfolded the sheet music.

"Mom will play piano for you, okay? There's no piano, but Mom remembers the score."

I lifted my hand and pressed down into empty air.

No piano sound—just the faint click of my finger joints moving.

I'd only played two measures when sharp pain shot through my right hand. My fingers curled up.

"Mom's hand hurts. I'll stop here for today."

I dropped my head onto my knees. My tears smashed into the dirt.

My phone rang.

I looked at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar number and answered.

"Alex Henson." Marcus's voice came through. "I'm giving you thirty minutes. Show up at Bluewater Villa. Otherwise, I'll tear down that auto repair shop and make sure your foreman can't work in Rongcheng for the rest of his life."

"You can try." My voice was hoarse.

"You can gamble." His voice was flat. "Gamble on whether I'm joking. Don't force me to get rough. You know I have that ability."

The call ended.

I looked at the little dirt mound and reached out one last time to touch the soil.

"Lily, that bad guy is coming to cause trouble again. Be good down there. Don't be afraid."

Bluewater Villa.

It used to be my marital home. Now it was Marcus and Sophia's.

I parked the e-bike outside the wrought-iron gate and was about to go in when a security guard stopped me.

"Hey, hey, hey! What do you think you're doing? Scrap collectors use the back gate!" He waved his hand dismissively.

I glanced down at my shoes. The canvas was peeling at the edges, smeared with black mud.

"Marcus Abbott told me to come."

He snorted. "Mr. Abbott? Mr. Abbott would know a beggar like you? Why don't you piss and look at yourself in—"

A black Bentley pulled up. The window rolled down, revealing Marcus's face.

Five years had added a bit of maturity.

The guard immediately switched to a grin. "Mr. Abbott, there's this crazy woman insisting she's here because you—"

"Let her in."

Marcus didn't look at me. The window rolled back up, and the car drove through.

I followed on foot into the villa.

The moment I entered the living room, I heard piano music. The third movement of Moonlight Sonata. The player was struggling—wrong notes, one after another.

Sophia sat at a Steinway in a white formal dress.

My dowry.

"Marcus, this piece is too hard. Could Alex really play it with her eyes closed back then?"

She stopped and pouted.

Marcus handed his coat to a servant, his gaze landing on me in the entryway. He frowned.

"Alex, did you just crawl out of a trash heap?"

He took two steps closer, caught a whiff of motor oil, and backed away again, pulling out a handkerchief to cover his nose.

"Dressing like a beggar—is this your way of getting back at me? Trying to make me feel guilty?"

I stood at the edge of the carpet. I didn't step onto it.

"Mr. Abbott is overthinking it. Life forced it."

Sophia turned around. When she saw me, something flickered in her gaze. Then she smiled, lifted the hem of her skirt, and walked over.