CHAPTER 442: ERASED FROM MEMORIES-I

It was a familiar dream. A sensation on her forehead that felt like large hands filled with callouses rubbing her head, gently wrapping her in warmth that spread through her small body. Those hands had felt enormous to her once— because she had been little— but they weren’t truly large. They were fragile, with long, thin fingers, the kind that could have easily snapped like brittle twigs if held too tightly.

The owner of those hands... it was none other than her mother.

Arabella never quite recalled the kind moments her mother shared with her, not clearly, not vividly. But she was confident that her mother had been kind once. After all, not everyone could remain in constant anger forever. Her mother, too, must have had moments of gentleness. She wasn’t always that terrible mother who shouted and slammed doors. There had been softness before the storm.

She remembered how she had once cried endlessly, demanding a swing of her own, kicking the floor and screaming until her throat hurt. Her mother had looked so troubled, pacing the small kitchen, unsure of how to appease her little daughter’s tantrum. Ariel was still too young to help, clinging to her small blanket with wide, worried eyes, and their father had been out looking for work that day.

Just when Arabella thought she would never get that swing, her mother had built one herself— a crooked thing tied to the thick branch of the old tree in their backyard. The ropes had burned her mother’s hands, and the wooden plank had been uneven, but it had worked. Her mother had built what she wanted, despite being tired, despite the weight of poverty that always hovered over their crumbling home.

Arabella remembered feeling guilty that day— guilty but loved, too. Her mother had proven she could do anything for her, even if it meant stealing a little time from exhaustion, even if it meant building a dream out of frayed rope and splintered wood. That was the day she learned how love could be quiet, wordless, and built with bruised palms.

But as she grew older, her mother began to change.

It wasn’t something Arabella could control, but it was something she could understand— later, much later.

That night was the turning point.

She could hear the sound of fighting coming from the kitchen again, the sharp ring of breaking glass and the heavy thud of something hitting the table. Her father and mother were arguing— no, not arguing. They were tearing each other apart with words and yells and the clatter of things thrown in rage. It was the kind of fight no child should ever hear, but their house was too small to keep secrets, too thin-walled to contain anger.

From the dark hallway, Arabella could see her father’s hand gripping one of the kitchen knives, the metal glinting under the candlelight. Her mother’s bright green eyes snapped toward him, wide with fury and fear, her hair tangled around her face as she searched for another knife, her hand trembling as she pointed it back at him.

With a sharp glare, her mother hissed, "Don’t you dare pull anything stupid now!"

"Stupid?" her father barked, his voice cracking with anger. "Hah! Tonight will be the night I hear it directly from your mouth — whose children they really are! None of them look like me! None of them resemble me!"

Her mother’s face twisted in disbelief, a sound half between a sob and a scoff escaping her lips. "Resemble you? Do they have to be a copy of your face for you to believe they’re your children? And how could you... how could you dare say such words... have you forgotten?"

"Forgotten? Forgotten what?" her father shouted, slamming the knife against the table. "My mother was right about you! She said you were suspicious! That you’re a woman who would have an aff—"

"YOU’RE THE ONE WHO FORCED ME!"

Arabella froze.

The echo of her mother’s scream sliced through her, through the house, through time itself.

She hadn’t understood those words back then. She was just a child— too young to grasp what those heavy, venomous sentences truly meant. But now, standing in the remnants of that dream, she did. The memory that once blurred with confusion had sharpened into something unbearable, something she finally understood far too late.

"I DIDN’T! That night you were already-"

"You were the only one there! You know the truth but you refuse to face it," her mother snapped back, "Yes. Because you don’t want to face the truth that they are your children, a constant reminder of your mistake. A reminder of your sin!"

"You were already- you didn’t know the entire truth! By the time I appeared back at our home, you were already... with someone else..."

"I would never- I would never have an affair with anyone- NEVER! It was you- you suddenly... but of course, how could you remember? You were drunk. Drunk out of your mind-"

"HAH!"

Arabella jumped from her sleep, sitting on the soft bed at once while holding to her chest that had hurt so badly. Her entire body shook and tremble as this piece of her memory filled her head. She was confused, so confused about the fight that her mother and father had shared in the memories because... what does she meant by forced?

Forced by her father... against her will?

Was that why though her mother loved her, she would sometime hate her as well?

As Arabella clutched to her chest, her breathings labored. Confusion and fear, as well as this odd nagging itch in her heart suddenly appear, so uncomfortable that she felt as if she was about to lose her mind.

Then a knock came from the door of her room.

Someone had stepped inside, smiling gently while looking at her. His silver hair dripped like water toward his neck, tied loosely with a purple ribbon.

"Bella," his voice as kind as his green eyes while he walked inside the room with the tray of food, "You slept for far too long, your body must have hurt."

Seeing his face, Arabella frowned, holding to her head that was hit by waves of headache.

"Don’t worry, the headache will be gone soon once you have filled your stomach."

"What happened?" Arabella asked him instead, frowning, "I don’t remember anything before I slept. Cassius, what happened before I fell asleep?"

"Silly you, you have forgotten?" Morpheus smiled, "Morpheus, not Cassius. That’s my name. The name of the man you have lived with for months now. Your lover, Morpheus."