I Walked Away Seven Years Too Late But Right on Time novel Chapter 94

"Exactly, Eileen. There are plenty of men in this world better than Luke. What's so great about an ungrateful jerk like him? He's not worth you tearing yourself apart over."

Eileen covered her ears. She had heard these exact words far too many times. But all she wanted was Luke.

The next day, when Eileen went to the Lawrence house to look for Luke, she was told he had already returned to San Francisco. She immediately took a cab straight to the train station.

Victoria, who realized her daughter had sneaked out while she was in the restroom, rushed to the Lawrence house. Eleanor informed her that Eileen had come and gone.

She tried calling her daughter, but no one answered. After searching the neighborhood with Eleanor to no avail, she had no choice but to call Harold.

Harold ordered his driver to head to the train station while simultaneously calling Luke, demanding that if he saw Eileen, he had to bring her back safely.

After scouring the train station without any sign of his daughter, Harold grew too anxious to wait and caught the next high-speed train to San Francisco.

By the time he arrived at Luke's company, there was still no news of Eileen.

"I called her, but she refuses to pick up. Reception said they haven't seen her," Luke said, suddenly pausing. "I know where she went."

He drove Harold straight to his small apartment. Sure enough, the door lock had once again been forced open by a locksmith hired by Eileen.

The floor was completely trashed, exactly how it looked the last time Eileen had smashed everything in sight.

Eileen was sitting on the sofa, using the TV to play videos from his external hard drive. She was hammering the fast-forward button, clearly searching for something.

"Eileen, do you have any idea that breaking and entering is a crime?"

Luke was absolutely furious. He lunged forward to turn off the TV, but Eileen blocked his path.

He reached out to grab it, and the two of them practically ended up wrestling each other.

"Enough! What is wrong with the two of you?!" Harold roared.

Luke released his grip, and Eileen scurried over to her father's side, still clutching the remote control.

On the TV screen played a video of Sophie. It was footage he had shot with a camcorder for Sophie's twenty-third birthday, when she had been showing him old photos of herself.

In middle school, Sophie's hair had been incredibly short, making her look exactly like a little boy.

In the video, Sophie asked him if she looked ugly, and he only laughed. When he had first met Sophie, her hair was barely any longer than in that photo.

Sophie said shyly, "My mom was terrified I'd date in middle school, so she intentionally cut it that short. Ugh, stop filming!" Saying that, she reached out to cover the lens, but Luke panned the camera down to the photo album showing her with short hair.

Harold froze completely.

The frame lingered for a brief moment before the camera quickly cut back to Sophie's face as she held up a piece of cake to feed Luke. Harold finally snapped out of his daze, snatched the remote from his daughter's hand, and turned off the TV.

"Why did you turn it off? I want everyone to see how utterly shameless they are."

Eileen was stunned into silence, and Harold froze as well. In all the years she had been alive, this was the first time he had ever laid a hand on her.

"Dad..." Eileen covered her cheek, staring at Harold in utter disbelief.

"It's Dad's fault, Dad was too impulsive just now." Harold stepped forward to hug her, but she flinched away.

"Even you don't love me anymore? None of you love me anymore?" Eileen sobbed, her voice breaking with accusation.

"Dad just doesn't want you making one mistake after another. How could Dad not love you?" Harold had never felt such overwhelming exhaustion. He urged gently, "Let's go back right now. Your mom is worried sick about you."

Eileen was in no condition to take the high-speed train, so Luke drove the father and daughter back himself.

In the car, Eileen cried herself to exhaustion and fell into a heavy sleep.

Harold closed his eyes, his worries extending far beyond his daughter's mental state. He could not stop thinking about that photo of Sophie with short hair.

In the photo, Sophie looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, wearing a blue and white school uniform. She had a tight expression, clearly reluctant to face the camera. Her hair was cropped incredibly short, and at first glance, she looked exactly like a clean-cut, handsome, and slightly stubborn little boy.

It was the exact image he had seen in his dreams. The son in his dreams looked just like that.

When Sophie was young, she looked even more like him. How could it be possible that they shared no blood relation?