Chapter 3
Lizetta watched their side–by–side figures, feeling a chill in her heart. No wonder she mentioned divorce and he didn’t even turn his head. Turned out his old flame was back.
Remington strode over, his gaze sweeping across Lizetta’s overly pale face, frowning, “Feeling under the weather?“–
Evelina also came over, grabbing Lizetta’s hand with concern.
“Your hand is freezing, Lizetta. Don’t tell me you got the wrong idea. Today’s my birthday, see, and after being away for four years, my folks insisted on throwing a birthday bash. Who knew right after the cake I’d get a tummy ache, so Remi had to accompany me to the hospital.”
Lizetta swiftly withdrew her hand, moving so fast that Evelina’s hand was left hanging in the air, causing Remington to disapprove with a darkened gaze.
Lizetta noticed and felt a wave of bitterness swell in her heart.
She shared a birthday with Evelina, and it wasn’t that Remington had forgotten or hadn’t prepared a gift, it was just that he had someone more important to be with, someone more important to pamper.
Hiding her fragility, Lizetta forced a smile and tiptoed to remove the headband from the man’s head.
“This doesn’t suit you,” with a casual flick, she tossed the headband straight into the trash can.
Evelina’s smile froze on her face.
“Joseph’s sick, in the pediatric ward; we have his brain CT scan.”
Lizetta handed the report to Remington and then bolted, her steps quickening. She stepped out of the outpatient hall and couldn’t help but look back.
Remington was accompanying Evelina upstairs, and from start to finish, he hadn’t looked back at her even
once.
Eyes brimming, Lizetta spun around only to bump into someone head–on. She fell to the ground, the familiar voice of a middle–aged woman scolding from above.
“Young people these days! Can’t you watch where you’re going? Honestly!”
“Forget it, Eve’s waiting for us.”
Regaining her senses from the pain, Lizetta looked up only to see the anxious backs of the Hawthorne parents as they hurried away.
Memories flooded back of when she was a child, sick and rushed to the hospital late at night in her father’s arms. Elara Hawthorne would hold her little hand and say, “Be brave, Liz, mom and dad are here.”
She and Evelina were the true and false heiresses switched at birth, and once discovered, the families had immediately swapped the children back.
At six, she lost the parents who loved her and gained an abusive father and a selfish mother.
At eight, Lizetta nearly died at the hands of the abusive Hans Gardenia, and at ten, her older brother Thaddeus Gardenia carried her, who was bloodied, to kneel at the Dashiell family’s mansion doorstep.
Begging Fiona to adopt Lizetta out of an old friendship with the grandmother, Remington braved the snowstorm to bring Lizetta back to the Dashiell family.
Sixteen years ago, Evelina appeared, and Lizetta lost her home. Now, Evelina had reappeared.
Like fate, Lizetta sensed she would lose everything. But she was too weary to hold on any longer.
Late summer, clouds heavy, tree branches dense overhead, the evening breeze already cool, Lizetta, holding her shoulder and limping, walked down the street, passing young dancers laughing and joking loudly as they went
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Lizetta stopped and stared blankly.
She was six years younger than Remington and had skipped grades to catch up with him, getting into the top dance academy by fifteen.
Graduated at eighteen, her professor recommended she study abroad, but Lizetta had declined.
For the past four years, she did just one thing – waiting for Remington, waiting for him to turn around and marry her, clinging to the shell of a marriage, day after day, year after year.
Now twenty–two, compared to her peers brimming with youth, she felt like an old soul.
Last month, her senior mentioned that a world–class dance master, Dories, was taking on mentee, a golden opportunity. He offered to help her apply for an interview.
Lizetta had hesitated, but tonight, she had her answer.
A taxi pulled up, honking and snapping Lizetta out of her thoughts, the driver poking his head out, “Need a
ride?”
Lizetta stepped off the curb and bent down, “I’m broke, but will this do? It’s platinum with diamonds.”
She took off her small earring and handed it over.
The diamond sparkled, even an amateur could tell it was something special. The middle–aged driver took it, “Hop in.”
Lizetta gave the address, and the driver clutched the pricey earring, “Oakridge Heights, where every inch of land is worth a fortune; you’re loaded, huh? How much could this earring sell for?”
Lizetta leaned against the window, eyes closed, “Six figures.”
The driver didn’t buy it, “Miss, you’ve got jokes.”
Lizetta didn’t continue the conversation, her thoughts drifting far away.
That year she was twelve, at the age when little girls yearn for beauty; she and Yolanda had planned to get their ears pierced.
