Clarissa smiled faintly, her eyes dimming like dying embers.

“Promise me… you’ll never hurt innocent people again. And… live well.”

That genius boy who had taken his own life at twenty… I hope, this time, you’ll have a brighter future. And then… just live well.

“I promise,” Atticus whispered, his voice trembling, “I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you want. Clarissa, please… don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He held her tightly, repeating those same words again and again, like a broken prayer. Hot tears streamed down his face, falling onto her neck, soaking through her clothes until they clung to her skin.

Clarissa’s hand brushed his gently, then rested there, still and fragile. Her lips parted with a faint smile.

“Yes,” she murmured softly. “I won’t go. I’ll stay here…”

.......

The woman lay motionless on the hospital bed, her frail body wrapped in tubes. The machines around her beeped rhythmically — each sound a cruel reminder that she was still barely alive.

Atticus sat beside her, fingers locked around her hand. The once brilliant, elegant man now looked utterly broken — unshaven, hollow-eyed, his shirt wrinkled and stained.

Eleven had never seen him like this. Since Clarissa’s collapse, he hadn’t moved from that spot. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t drunk a drop of water.

He just sat there, staring at her — as if he could etch every feature of her face into his soul.

Eleven sighed quietly, took away the untouched meal that had gone cold hours ago, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Inside, Atticus bowed his head, his grip tightening around Clarissa’s hand.

“Clarissa…” His voice cracked. “It hurts so much. My heart— it hurts. I’m such a bastard. Clarissa, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

His handsome features twisted with anguish, tears and grief contorting the calm mask he once wore so easily.

Time dragged on. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The hours passed until noon, when the clock outside began to chime.

Then, finally, Atticus stirred.

He rose slowly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her brow. His eyes shimmered with tenderness — and something final.

“Clarissa,” he whispered, “I’m taking you home.”

He carefully removed the tubes from her body and gathered her into his arms.

Eleven, startled, caught sight of him as he stepped into the hallway, Clarissa limp in his embrace. She hurried after him.

“Mr. Atticus— what are you doing?”

He turned to her, his tone calm, distant.

“We don’t need anyone here for now,” he said quietly. “Go back to your post.”

Eleven stared, stunned. “What about her?”

Atticus lowered his gaze to the woman in his arms. His voice softened.

“I’m taking Clarissa home.”

Because she was never meant to be confined — she was the free wind, the wild begonia that bloomed even in the storm. Someone like him had no right to keep her caged.

After speaking, he turned and walked away.

Eleven stood frozen, watching his back grow smaller and smaller. Surprise filled her eyes — then slowly turned to quiet relief.

Above her, the crabapple trees swayed gently in the cold air. They shouldn’t have been blooming this time of year, but Atticus had once spent years experimenting to make this particular tree flower through winter.

Eleven clasped her hands together and whispered a silent prayer beneath the blossoms.

.......

For days, Callum had mobilized every resource at his disposal to find them. Even Phoenix had joined the search, but Atticus was too clever — too careful. No one could find a trace of him.

Just when everyone had given up hope, Atticus appeared.

He walked straight into Callum’s house and dropped to his knees before him.

When Callum saw the unconscious woman in Atticus’s arms — pale, breath barely there — rage surged through him.

He looked down at the young man kneeling on the cold floor, his eyes dark and merciless.

“You want me to save her?” he said sharply. “Atticus, aren’t you afraid of divine retribution for what you’ve done to her?”

Atticus didn’t lift his head. His voice was hoarse, raw.

“Your disciple has failed. Please, Master… save her. I’m willing to accept any punishment.”

“Punishment?” Callum gave a bitter laugh. “You? Atticus, you already know the truth. Her illness comes from the heart — and you are the cause.”

Atticus’s fingers curled against the floor.

Callum’s gaze sharpened. “I can save her,” he said coldly. “But if I do, she will forget you. Completely. I’ll erase you from her memory, every trace, every feeling. From this moment on, you will no longer exist in her world. Can you accept that?”

He paused, then added, “And don’t doubt me — my method is foolproof. She will never remember you again.”

The words struck like a thousand blades.

Atticus’s chest tightened, his breath shallow. Images of Clarissa — her smile, her laughter, the light in her eyes — flashed through his mind, carving deeper wounds into his heart.

He took a long, trembling breath before speaking, voice barely audible.

“Losing her will break me,” he said. “But she hasn’t smiled in so long.”

He lifted his gaze, his eyes glistening with pain and clarity.

“My love only ever hurt her. I wanted her to be happy more than I wanted her to be mine.”

A bitter smile curved his lips. “If this is what it takes for Clarissa to smile again… then I’ll do it.”

Callum stared at Atticus, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

He too had once loved Clarissa — deeply. But being loved by a man like Atticus was no blessing. It was a curse.

Callum was old now, and all he wanted was for his only granddaughter to live safely and peacefully for the rest of her life.

He let out a long sigh. “Very well,” he said quietly. “At least you still have a shred of conscience left. Go.”

Atticus bowed his head. “I will,” he said. “But… before I do, may I see her one last time?”

Callum hesitated. Before he could answer, a sharp voice rang out behind him.

“Mr. Callum! Where is Clarissa? Is she here with you?”

They both turned. Phoenix was striding toward them, her face pale with fury.

The moment her gaze landed on Atticus kneeling on the floor, her expression darkened to something murderous. “Atticus! You bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!”

She swung hard. The punch landed squarely against his jaw — he didn’t even try to block it.

Phoenix grabbed his collar, ready to strike again, but Callum caught her arm.

“Enough,” he said firmly. “Beating him won’t help. Let’s see Clarissa first.”

Phoenix yanked her arm free and stalked into the house. Atticus stayed where he was, silent, head bowed.

Inside, Phoenix froze when she saw Clarissa lying on the bed. The color drained from her face, and then, as if all her strength vanished, she sank to her knees beside the bed.

Her hands trembled as she clasped Clarissa’s — small, cold, almost weightless. “Clarissa…”

She hadn’t cried since she was eight years old. No matter how harsh the training, no matter how much it hurt, she’d never shed a tear. But now the floodgates broke. Hot tears rolled down her face and fell onto Clarissa’s limp hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t protect you…”

The warmth of her tears seemed to stir something in Clarissa. Her lashes trembled, and slowly, she opened her eyes. There was confusion in them, a haze between dream and waking.

She thought she was still dreaming. “Phoenix?” she murmured hoarsely.

Phoenix’s head snapped up. “Clarissa, you’re awake— you’re awake!”

Clarissa blinked. “Am I dreaming?”

“No. No, you’re home now,” Phoenix said quickly, clutching her hand tighter. “No one will hurt you anymore.”

The warmth of Phoenix’s palm told Clarissa it was real. She turned her head slightly, spotting Callum standing at her bedside. Her voice trembled. “Grandpa…”

Callum’s eyes reddened. “You’re still weak, child. I just gave you acupuncture — how do you feel?”

“Better,” Clarissa whispered. “I’d… like some water.”

Phoenix was already on her feet, pouring a glass. Clarissa took a few slow sips. The water eased the dryness in her throat.

Callum then brought over a porcelain bowl filled with steaming, fragrant broth. He dropped a small red pill inside; it dissolved instantly, tinting the soup a pale crimson. “Drink this,” he said.

“I’ll feed her,” Phoenix said, taking the bowl from him. She scooped a spoonful, blew on it gently, and held it to Clarissa’s lips.

Clarissa looked at the spoon, then at Phoenix. The soup’s aroma didn’t make her nauseous — a first. Atticus had tried countless remedies, endless dietary regimens, but her body had always rejected them.

This time, the warmth spread through her body instead — down her throat, into her stomach, and then outward to her fingertips.

Suddenly, she felt ravenous. She took sip after sip until the bowl was empty.

Callum exhaled softly in relief. Thank heavens, he thought. If that boy had come a moment later…

Phoenix set the bowl aside and said, “You’re still weak. Rest a little longer.”

Clarissa shook her head gently. “No… it’s fine.” Her gaze shifted toward the door. “He’s outside, isn’t he?”

Both Callum and Phoenix froze. Phoenix’s jaw tightened, her voice dripping venom. “Why bring up that bastard again? Clarissa, don’t worry — I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”

“Can you… call him in?” Clarissa’s voice was soft but steady.

Outside, Atticus was still kneeling, waiting silently. When the door opened, he looked up sharply.

Callum’s voice came from inside. “Come in. She wants to speak to you.”

Atticus’s heart jolted. He stood quickly, almost stumbling in his haste, and rushed into the room. “Clarissa…”

His eyes were rimmed red; He took a step forward, but Phoenix blocked his path, seething.

“You don’t get to come near her,” she hissed. “You’ve done enough. Stay the hell away.”

Clarissa’s voice came quietly from behind her. “Phoenix, come here.”

Phoenix hesitated, then moved closer to the bed. “Clarissa, what do you want to do with this bastard?”

Clarissa sighed, a faint, weary sound. She reached out, took Phoenix’s hand, and said softly, “Phoenix… I know what he did was unforgivable, and he deserves to pay for it. But for my sake, could you give him another chance?”

Phoenix looked at her, stunned. “You’re still defending him? After everything he’s done to you? You don’t hate him at all?”

Clarissa’s eyes dimmed. “When it comes to love, who really understands it?” she said quietly. “I made mistakes too. We both did. Maybe that’s why things turned out this way. But blaming each other now won’t change anything.”

She turned her gaze to Atticus and lifted her hand slightly. “Atticus,” she whispered, “come here.”

Atticus froze for a moment, disbelief flickering in his eyes. Then he moved forward quickly, falling to his knees beside her bed. His eyes never left her face — as if afraid she might disappear if he looked away even for a second.

Clarissa looked at him quietly. Honestly, she hadn’t expected him to really bring her back. She’d resigned herself to dying in that place, alone. But now…