Chapter 161 You Are Unworthy of Redemption

Chapter 161 You Are Unworthy of Redemption

Stephanie's POV

My palm suddenly went slack. The coins slipped through my fingers and scattered across the pavement with a sharp clatter.

The streetlight illuminated her face with brutal clarity.

Her once-bright eyes were now a dull, lifeless shade of pale green—completely vacant.

She stared at me with clouded vision, her gaze unfocused, showing no sign of recognition.

After a long moment, her eyes drifted back down to the enamel bowl sitting in front of her.

She slowly raised her hand and began gathering the fallen coins into the bowl.

"Miss..." Her hoarse voice came again. "Spare some change, ma'am..."

She had completely forgotten me.

I opened my mouth, frozen for what felt like forever before I could force the words out. "You... don't remember me?"

Her movements stopped abruptly.

The hand collecting coins froze mid-air. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at me again.

This time, her gaze lingered on my face, studying me carefully.

The next second, her pupils dilated sharply. Her body jerked backward, recoiling instinctively.

The enamel bowl slipped from her hands and crashed to the ground with a loud clang. Coins scattered in every direction, rolling away into the shadows along the curb.

"You..." Her voice cracked completely, filled with pure panic. "You're... you..."

She raised a withered hand, trembling, and pointed directly at me.

"Murderer!"

Nearly twenty years later, that piercing accusation hit me like a rusted nail driven straight into my ear.

Emily whipped around, her voice sharp with anger. "What did you just say?!"

I raised my hand to stop her.

I could feel my hand trembling slightly, but my voice came out unnaturally steady. "Say that again."

The woman stared at me with those dead eyes, and suddenly, a twisted, obsessive hatred flickered back to life in them.

She screamed in that raspy voice, "It was you... You're the one who killed Yasmin..."

"I didn't." I looked straight at her, each word clear and firm.

She acted like she couldn't hear me at all. She kept shaking her head, curling up beneath the streetlight, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her voice growing louder and louder.

"She died trying to save you! It's all your fault! You killed her!"

Passersby turned to stare. A crowd began to form. Emily's face went rigid with fury. Christopher moved quickly to my side. Rufus stepped forward, positioning himself between me and the woman in case she tried to lunge.

I gently pushed Rufus's shoulder aside and took a step forward, crouching down in front of her.

Now our eyes were at the same level—just like when Yasmin and I had been at the beach all those years ago. But I was no longer that helpless little girl who could only cry.

"You're calling me a murderer?" I stared into her eyes. "Then let me ask you—what was the real cause of Yasmin's death?"

Her screaming choked off instantly, trapped in her throat.

"You drugged Yasmin with illegal substances for years. You locked her in that building behind the orphanage, kept her from leaving, and let her be abused while she was unconscious."

The moment the words left my mouth, her face twisted with terror. She scrambled backward frantically, eyes darting away, lips trembling so hard she couldn't speak.

"You bribed the medical examiner to falsify the death certificate. You deliberately covered up the truth and pinned everything on a seven-year-old child." My tone was ice-cold.

"Did you really think that once I grew up, left this place, and forgot the past, it would all just go away?"

She opened her mouth with difficulty, forcing out a few weak, broken sounds from her parched throat. "No... it wasn't like that... I..."

"Then tell me—what is the truth?" I pressed her relentlessly.

She suddenly curled into a tight ball, burying her face deep into her knees. Her shoulders shook violently. She completely broke down.

Under the streetlight, she wore a tattered coat, her graying hair a tangled mess. She huddled in the corner like a discarded rag—utterly pathetic.

The crowd grew larger. People whispered among themselves. Some pulled out their phones to film.

Emily stood behind me and asked quietly, confusion in her voice, "Who is she?"

I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "She's Kaitlyn—the woman who ran the orphanage back then."

Emily gasped sharply, then glared down at the crumpled figure on the ground.

"After all these years, you're still lying! You called Stephanie a murderer—what does that make you?!"

I raised my hand to stop Emily and looked down at the woman on the ground.

"When did you get out of prison? How did you end up here?"

Kaitlyn still didn't dare lift her head. Her entire face stayed buried against her knees, only her messy gray hair visible.

After a long silence, a muffled voice emerged from where she was hunched over.

"My record's flagged in the criminal database... No matter where I go, people can look me up... No company will hire me. No one will rent to me."

"I had nowhere to go." Her voice dropped lower, soaked in misery. "I tried so many places. No one would take me in. Not a single person..."

She suddenly jerked her head up and dropped to her knees in front of me.

"Stephanie, please have mercy!" She grabbed desperately at my pant leg, begging. "I really can't survive anymore! Please—just give me something, anything!"

I stepped back twice, shaking her off firmly.

All her life, she had only ever thought of herself.

When she was young, she destroyed countless children's lives for her own selfish desires.

Now, old and destitute, begging on the street—the moment she saw me again, she still only knew how to play the victim, pretend ignorance, and try to bury all her sins.

Emily tugged lightly on my sleeve. "Stephanie, let's go."

I stood up and took one last look at her.

Her old coat was ragged beyond recognition—probably a handout from some stranger. Her hands, once carefully maintained, were now covered in wrinkles and cracks, rough and worn. She sat barefoot on the cold pavement, and even the enamel bowl she used for begging had a jagged crack running through it.

This was karma. Her karma.

I suddenly stepped forward and gripped her shoulders hard.

She flinched violently and looked up at me in terror.

"You owe Yasmin an apology." I stared into her eyes, each word deliberate and unyielding.

Her lips trembled violently. She stayed silent.

"I know you don't want to admit you were wrong." My voice was calm.

"But that's fine. One day, you'll cry out that apology yourself. You don't deserve anyone's forgiveness. You don't deserve redemption. You should be grateful you're still alive—this miserable existence is the best outcome you could hope for. The real punishment won't come until the day you die."

Her lips kept trembling. Silent tears streamed down her face.

I gave her one cold glance, then turned and walked away.

Christopher caught up quickly, falling into step beside me and gently taking my hand.

"How do you feel?"