Where Petals of Vengeance Bloom

After Jeffry finished explaining everything in detail, the old matriarch felt as if her heart had been torn apart, stabbed by a thousand needles.

With trembling steps, she moved closer to the little girl, slowly kneeling down and gazing at the child who so closely resembled Claire. Tears broke free, streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Opening her arms, her voice quivered as she called out, "Come here, darling. Come to your great-grandma."

The girl glanced anxiously at Sean, only moving forward when he nodded reassuringly.

The old woman pulled her into a tight embrace, as though holding the most precious treasure in the world-pouring all her love and pain into that hug.

She murmured, "Oh, what a tragedy. How much has Claire suffered through all these years? And how much pain has our sweet child endured?"

The little girl blinked her wide, glistening eyes. Seeing the old woman cry, she reached up to gently wipe away her tears, her voice soft and obedient. "Don't cry, great-grandma. I'll be good, I promise. I can do the laundry, cook, and clean the house. I won't ever give you trouble."

Hearing this, the old woman began to sob even harder, her tears flowing in torrents. Between sobs, she kept repeating, "Good girl, good girl. You're the best, the bravest little one."noveldrama

After a moment, she composed herself and asked, "Sweetheart, what's your name?"

The little girl beamed, answering in a bright, clear voice, "My name's Tramp."

The moment she spoke, everyone's faces grew dark.

A flash of anger crossed the old woman's eyes. She clenched her jaw and her hands curled into fists. But when she looked at the child's innocent, trusting face, she forced the anger down and spoke as gently as she could. "Darling, that's not a good name. Why don't we choose a new one together? Let great-grandma pick one for you, would you like that?"

"Yes, yes!” The girl clapped her hands, bouncing with excitement.

The old woman turned to Sean, silently asking for his thoughts.

Sean hesitated, memories of Claire's smile flooding his mind. He finally said, his voice firm, "Amara."

The name was full of longing for Claire, and a hope that their daughter would always remember her mother.

Turning back to the child in her arms, the old woman said softly, "From now on, you'll be called Amara. Amara, do you like it?"

The little girl nodded

enthusiastically, her eyes curving into bright crescents. "Mm-hmm! I love the name Amara. It's so much prettier than Tramp."

Her innocent grin revealed a row of crooked baby teeth.

Everyone in the room smiled as well, though their smiles were tinged with heartbreak.

In the days that followed, the Foster household seemed to come alive, as if Amara's arrival had breathed new life into the family.

The old matriarch spent every day with Amara, playing games and teaching her to read and write.

Grace delighted in making treats for Amara, and the little girl especially loved Grace's homemade pastries, eating until her belly was round and full.

Sean, too, made changes. He threw himself into his work, but every

evening, without fail, he rushed home to be with Amara, reading her bedtime stories and taking her for walks in the garden. Watching his daughter grow healthier, more cheerful, and more outgoing by the day, he saw her cheeks filling out and her skin growing fairer-proof she was finally thriving.

Two years passed in the blink of an eye. Amara was now four, old enough to start preschool.

Every day, without exception, Sean picked her up and dropped her off himself.

One afternoon, when school let out,

a line of parents waited for their

children, each greeting their little ones with a hug before heading home together. But as the crowd thinned, only Amara remained, standing quietly beside her teacher, alone.