Chapter 176 Do you remember?

Chapter 176 Do you remember?
Jane's POV

After a long while, I finally spoke through my tears, my voice hoarse. "You know what? This isn't the first time he's done this."

David's movements paused. He looked down at me, his voice gentle as water. "I figured as much. The way he looked at you—it wasn't just momentary resentment. It was like years of accumulated poison." He hesitated, then asked carefully, "Did he... hurt you and your mother like this before?"

My heart clenched as those deliberately buried memories surged back. I looked up at David through tear-blurred eyes and shook my head slowly. "No... that's what makes it so confusing. When Mom was alive, he was actually... decent to us. But after she died, when I was twelve, everything changed overnight. He'd come around drunk and cause trouble. He called me a burden, said I..." I sniffled again, unable to continue.

David's expression darkened instantly, his arms tightening around me, his voice carrying suppressed fury. "That bastard. What could have possibly changed to make him treat a grieving child like that?"

"I don't know. I feel like there's some misunderstanding," I explained quietly, exhaustion heavy in my voice. "It was so sudden, so complete. Like he became a different person the moment we buried her."

"Tell me more about what he was like before," David said gently.

I closed my eyes, trying to piece together those fragmented memories. "Before Mom died, he'd bring me little gifts—a bag of peppermint candies that he'd slip into my pocket with a wink, or a worn paperback book that he said reminded him of me. I remember one time he brought me a copy of Alice in Wonderland because he said my eyes were just as curious as Alice's."

A bittersweet smile crossed my face. "He'd always sit with Mom at our little kitchen table—you know, the wobbly one we propped up with folded napkins. They'd share a pot of tea and talk in these soft, gentle voices while I did my homework nearby. Sometimes I'd catch him looking at her with such... tenderness. Like she was something precious and fragile."

David listened intently, his hand gently stroking my hair as I continued.

"I remember every Saturday morning, he'd get up early to make us pancakes, and he'd arrange blueberries on mine to make a smiley face. Mom would always laugh and say he was spoiling me rotten." My voice grew softer with the memory. "And those summer evenings when he'd teach me to ride my bike in the backyard, holding onto the seat over and over again, patiently encouraging me. When I finally managed to ride a few feet on my own, both he and Mom clapped for me, and his eyes were just filled with pride."

"He'd also check all the doors and windows during thunderstorms to make sure we were safe. One time the roof leaked, and he spent the entire night up in the attic fixing it. When he came down the next morning covered in dust, he just smiled at Mom and said, 'All fixed.' She'd make him hot tea and lovingly brush the dust off his clothes."

My voice began to tremble. "He used to ruffle my hair and call me 'little bird' because I was always chattering about something. Mom would laugh and say I got my talkative streak from her side of the family. Those evenings felt so warm, so safe... We really were like one happy family."

The smile faded from my face. "That's what makes everything that happened afterward so impossible to understand. How could the man who made me smiley-face pancakes every Saturday become someone who calls me a burden? How could those same hands that patiently taught me to ride a bike be the ones that hit me today? How could the person who protected us during storms become the one I'm most afraid of?" My voice grew smaller and smaller as I touched my cheek, where the sting of his slap still lingered.

David listened intently, his hand stroking my hair as I continued.

"And there was this one winter when our kitchen faucet broke—water was spraying everywhere, and Mom was nearly in tears because we couldn't afford a plumber. Thomas showed up that weekend with a toolbox, rolled up his sleeves, and spent the whole afternoon under our sink, cursing softly while I handed him wrenches." I laughed softly at the memory. "When he finally got it working, Mom made him his favorite dinner—meatloaf with mashed potatoes. I remember thinking how nice it felt, like we were a real family."

My voice grew wistful. "He used to ruffle my hair and call me 'little bird' because I was always chattering about something. Mom would laugh and say I got my talkative nature from her side of the family. Those evenings felt so warm, so safe..."

"That sounds like a completely different person," David murmured, frowning.

"Right? And then..." I took a shaky breath. "The day after the funeral, he showed up drunk. Started yelling about how everything was ruined, how I was going to be just like her. I didn't even understand what he meant back then."

"What did he say exactly? Do you remember?"

"He kept saying 'she promised, she promised' over and over. And then he'd look at me with this... this hatred. Like I had personally wronged him somehow." My voice cracked. "I was just a kid, David. I'd just lost my mom, and suddenly the only adult I knew was treating me like I was some kind of monster."

David's jaw clenched. "Did he ever explain what your mother supposedly promised?"

"Never. Whenever I tried to ask, he'd either ignore me or get angrier. Sometimes he'd mutter things about 'lies' and 'betrayal,' but it never made sense."

"And this went on for how long?"