The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 147

That drop of water falling onto the back of her hand carried a hint of icy sting, instantly pulling Annelise back from that long, silent weep.

She slowly lifted her head, staring at the white ranunculus she had pruned to near perfection.

The petals cascaded in flawless, pristine layers, like a fresh, immaculate snowfall.

The apartment was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator's compressor.

Outside, the Oslo night was as thick as unspilled ink.

Free.

Mr. Coleman's calm verdict had dropped into the deep waters of her soul like a stone, yet it hadn't created ripples of joy. Instead, it left behind a massive, echoing, disorienting emptiness.

The mountain that had crushed her chest for four years was finally gone.

But with the mountain removed, all that remained was a scarred, barren wasteland.

The ringing of the New Year was announced by the deep, resonant tolls of the ancient bell at Oslo City Hall drifting into her apartment.

One strike, then another—muffled, yet reaching endlessly into the dark.

Immediately following, the night sky outside her window erupted in a sudden blaze of fireworks.

Flashes of gold, red, and blue painted brilliant, fleeting masterpieces across the deep-blue canvas of the polar night.

Wrapped in a cashmere blanket and nursing a cup of warm black tea, Annelise stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the entire show from beginning to end.

She could hear the muffled cheers of young people and the popping of champagne corks filtering up through the double-paned glass, sounding distorted and far away.

She felt like an audience member trapped in a soundproof theater, watching someone else's spectacular, triumphant finale.

She didn't speak a word to anyone.

Nor did she receive a single text message wishing her a happy new year.

The phone number that belonged to the old "Annelise Sargent" had been destroyed by her own hands at the Cresthaven airport.

As the final firework burnt out against the sky and the world surrendered back to darkness and silence, she spoke softly to herself.

"Happy New Year, Annelise."

On the first day of the new year, she slept until her body naturally woke her.

When she opened her eyes, it was still pitch black outside.

She didn't turn on the lights, sitting quietly in the dark for a long time.

Then, she got out of bed and did the one thing she had been avoiding, but knew she absolutely had to do.

She needed to say a proper goodbye to her baby.

She pulled an empty, clean glass jam jar from her luggage.

Walking into the kitchen, she meticulously washed it out once more.

Or, I love you?

Everything felt incredibly pale and powerless.

Eventually, she reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against the freezing pebble.

She lowered her head, speaking in a fragile whisper so quiet it almost broke before leaving her lips.

"Mommy is so sorry."

"Mommy couldn't protect you."

"But Mommy is going to live a good life."

She paused, her throat entirely swollen shut, forcing every single word out in agony.

"You'll watch over Mommy from heaven, won't you?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, the tears fell without warning.

It wasn't the agonizing, explosive sobbing from the airplane.

It was a quiet, enduring stream of tears, like glacial ice slowly melting under the very first rays of spring sunlight.

The tears slid down her cheeks, dropping one by one onto her dark gray sweatpants, blooming into small, dark stains.