I Swapped His Fake Gift for a Real Life novel Chapter 19

My parents never showed–not even when everything ended.

Sunlight streamed through the iron bars, casting broken patterns on the floor. I traced each flickering patch of light

with my eyes, the same way I’d once counted days. Weeks. Years.

Before the bloodshed began, I’d arranged everything for them–a clean escape. New identities. A new city. Even new faces.

The plastic surgeon’s work was impeccable. I’d stared at the photos, barely recognizing the smiling middle–aged couple.

Now, with Lily’s urn resting peacefully in their home, they lived in a quiet coastal town where no one knew their names. Where the air was salt–kissed and soft. Where they could forget me.

It was better this way.

I curled up in the corner of my hospital bed, picking absently at the frayed edge of a faded sheet.

Revenge was filth. It shouldn’t stain their new life.

Ten years passed.

The asylum’s iron windows had rusted, flaking red dust onto the sill like old blood.

Over time, even the echoes of Grayson and Aubrey’s screams had disappeared–faded into dust, like everything else.

They hadn’t lasted long. Pain devoured them piece by piece, and without the Whitmore fortune to keep them alive, they were discarded like human trash.

They died in agony. Alone. Forgotten.

After the trial, the insanity plea spared me the death penalty.

I sat still, day after day, silent and unmoving.

The doctors called me their “easiest patient.”

They didn’t understand–it wasn’t compliance. It was emptiness. My soul had burned out with my revenge.

Until one day.

“Hi, Miss!” A small voice rang out, high and bright.

I turned.

A little face was pressed against the bars, nose smushed flat from the effort. A girl–six or seven, maybe–stood on tiptoe. ribbons tangled in her crooked pigtails.

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Tiny cherry blossoms speckled her hair.

Before I could react, she shoved something between the bars and into my mouth.

A piece of candy, Orange–flavored.

The taste bloomed on my tongue–bright, citrusy, and sweet.

Her eyes sparkled like stars. “The cherry blossoms outside are blooming!” she chirped. “Mom says you loved these when

you were little… Is it sweet?”

My tongue trembled.

The flavor cracked something open inside me.

In a daze, I saw Lily again–pressing a sticky wrapper into my palm, her eyes curved like crescent moons. “Here, Scarlett.

It’s my last one.”

That orange candy was her final gift.

I raised my bony hand, brushing a fleck of rust from the girl’s cheek.

A cherry blossom petal clung to her dark hair, catching the light like a memory. For a second, she looked just like Lily- like the version of Lily who smiled like spring itself.

The sweetness stung my eyes.

Outside, the wind stirred, scattering more petals through the bars. They danced in her hair. She giggled and tried to tuck one into my thinning, graying strands.

Sunlight filtered through the blossoms, casting a warm blush across her round cheeks.

That’s when I noticed it–her dimples. Small. Shy.

Just like Lily’s.

I reached out, brushing a petal from her cheek. My fingers barely grazed her skin.

Warmth. Real, human warmth.

I recoiled–startled. I hadn’t touched anyone living in years.

But then her tiny hand caught mine. Soft. Solid. Unafraid.

Revenge had never been the end.

When the flames of hatred finally burned out, something fragile and precious remained.

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