A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Matilda slipped through the night, her steps light as the moonlight draped over her shoulders like a ghostly shawl. She pushed open the door to find the quiet of the house unsettling. No little figure, her son Logan, rubbing his sleepy eyes to greet her. The loneliness pricked at her heart just a little sharper tonight.

Her brother Gideon, always on the road for business, often bunked down in his studio rather than coming home. So, for the most part, it was just her and Logan. Now, with him away at camp, the silence in the house was enough to drive anyone crazy.

Head bowed, Matilda felt the alcohol magnifying all her emotions, her heart pounding so fiercely that each beat seemed to echo with a sting. A shower washed away the panic that had started to set in.

Too lazy to dry her hair, she flopped onto the bed, curling into a ball. She stared out the window at the heavy night, and when the lights went out, the darkness swallowed everything. Her own breathing sounded to her like distant whispers from far–off horizons.

Being alone… was enough to drive a person mad.

Matilda was seized by a despair so deep, it felt like she was the last person left on earth.

Eventually, sleep took her, a grueling surrender to exhaustion and pain, as she clutched the blankets tight. Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

Dawn was reluctant, and once again, she was left to battle her fate alone.

But drama has its consequences, and Matilda caught a cold.

She woke up dizzy, and by the afternoon, she was running a fever with a stuffed nose. At the studio, two loud sneezes echoed off the walls, and she glanced at her empty inbox. Standing up, she decided it was time to see a doctor.

She wasn’t about to play the martyr; sick was sick, and she wasn’t waiting for some knight in shining armor to come to her rescue. That kind of thinking was asking for it. Sick meant doctor and medicine. If you don’t love yourself, who will?

By the time she reached the hospital, her fever was quite high. The dashingly handsome doctor, holding the thermometer, whistled, “103.6, holy smokes! Any later, and you might have been a goner.”

Matilda was about to comment on his familiar face when she passed out.

When she came to, Yvan was sitting beside her. She jerked in surprise, trying to speak but wincing at the pain in her inflamed throat.

Still, she managed to say through the pain, “What are you doing here?”

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Yvan, eyes on his phone’s stock app, replied nonchalantly, “Your doctor called me.”

Ah, now she remembered. No wonder the doctor looked familiar; he was Chase Johnson’s younger brother.

Back when she was Miss Thompson of the Thompson family, they had met at a gala. How ironic to meet again under such circumstances. The notable always seemed to mingle in the same circles. Back

then, Matilda was no exception. Now, they probably all had forgotten her.

Yvan added, “He recognized you, so he gave me a call.”

Chase’s brother was surprisingly considerate in reaching out to her ex–husband for help.

But Matilda wasn’t one to not know right from wrong. She simply said thanks, cutting off whatever else Yvan had to say. She gave him a weary smile, eyes bright with defiance.

Yvan’s gaze drifted to Matilda’s fists, clenched unconsciously, her knuckles white with tension.

Yvan smirked, still as disarmingly charming as ever, and taunted, “Matilda, I’ve realized you really have failed in this society. Burning up like this and not a single soul to keep your company at the hospital.”