Chapter 282 The Hillside Filled with Sunflowers
William had already gotten his answer from the look in Dylan's eyes.
He sighed, then changed his tune.
"Forget it, let's just leave it at that."
In what felt like an instant, three months had passed.
Juniper's once-flat belly had finally begun to swell.
She huddled in the corner of the cage, sometimes reaching out to stroke the curve of her stomach.
Now and then, she would forget who Rusty really was, and, still rubbing her belly, she would murmur,
"Baby, grow up quickly."
"I'll take good care of you."
Her "neighbor" Isla had hollowed-out eye sockets, her wrinkled skin stretched tight over bone.
Her hair had grown sparse and patchy.
Every day, William's men forced food into her, keeping her just above the line of death. The light was already gone from her eyes.
No matter how William tried to provoke her, she never reacted.
Little by little, William lost patience and stopped paying her any attention.
Instead, he turned all his focus on Juniper.
Even though she was pregnant, William still sent her under the overpass every day.
He watched as men pinned Juniper down, while she used one hand to shield her stomach.
A strange light flashed through William's cold eyes.
Was she protecting her own child?
William couldn't help wondering—back when Isabella had still been alive, had she been protecting the child in her belly, too?
But even so, he didn't stop.
The answer no longer mattered.
Three months later, Donny was discharged from the hospital. The cast on his leg was finally removed.
For the rest of his life, he would never again be able to stand properly. Whenever he walked, he stumbled and lurched, his body swaying from side to side.
After finishing the discharge paperwork, he spent all his savings on a small piece of land that faced the sun.
The plot lay on the side of a hill.
Donny quit his job as a doctor. Now he worked the soil instead.
Carrying a hoe, he swung it up and down beneath the blazing sun.
He dropped sunflower seeds into the holes he had dug, wiped the sweat from his face, and lifted his head toward the burning sky.
Without warning, he smiled up at the sun.
"Isabella, look, this place is full of your favorite flowers."
Donny could not talk Ambrose out of his plan. All he could do was dig a hole on the hillside.
If William's behavior was obsession, then Ambrose's was madness in the name of persistence.
He had seen Ambrose being beaten by William's men. Donny had rushed forward, trying to shove them aside.
But the men stopped, and all turned their eyes toward William, who was standing off to one side.
After Ambrose struggled up from the ground, he brushed the dirt from his clothes, pushed Donny away, and staggered off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the shadows.
Donny met William's gaze, his attention finally dropping to the man's gently swaying left hand.
In those eyes, he saw a grief that ran deep.
Donny's heart clenched tight. Isabella's face in the moments before her death flashed across his mind.
Back then, Isabella's eyes had held that same kind of sorrow.
Donny's gaze settled once more on William's hand.
Now he was certain—William did not have ADHD. His hand seemed to drift in a small, constant sway.
But every so often, there was the slightest pause, and each time it happened, his hand jerked in a way that was not natural.
The moment passed so quickly that Donny had to watch for a long time before he dared to trust his own guess.
Maybe because he felt that his armor had been seen through, William jumped down from the roof of the car.
He waved his men away and walked quietly upstream.
He stopped by the river, looking at the scenery on the opposite bank.
The sound of the water running over the stones filled both men's ears.
William stared at the water plants by the bank, their long strands drifting with the current. His left hand moved in the same slow rhythm.
Donny came to stand beside him.
It was the first time the two of them had ever stood side by side.
In the past, neither Donny nor William would have believed this could happen.
That one day, the two of them would be standing together like this.
"Don't tell anyone."
William did not look away from the swaying water grass in the river. His voice came out rough.
Donny turned his head, staring hard at the man next to him.
He knew exactly what William meant. The understanding between them did not need words.
Donny suddenly pulled up his sleeve. He had only lifted it halfway when William clamped a hand down on his arm.
But halfway was already enough.
Donny saw the festering wounds.
He finally understood why William had said that.
His left hand was rotting, infected. William was burning through what was left of his life.
Aside from Donny, no one would ever see the ruined flesh beneath that hard shell.
He wanted badly to tell Ambrose: stop. Your wish will come true on its own before long.
William tugged his sleeve back down.
"I believe you're a man who keeps his word."
He looked out at the flowing river, a faint, relieved smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"Just like Isabella trusted you."
Donny could not force out a single word. His eyes grew hazy, and the bridge of his nose began to sting.
He looked at William, at a loss for what to say.
As he turned to leave, William suddenly spoke to his back in a level tone,
"I know you bought a piece of land."
"I want to ask you for a favor."
Donny froze where he stood. He did not look back; the wind howled past his ears.
His hand trembled.
He did not know whether he should agree or refuse.
The man behind him was, after all, the one who had killed Isabella.
He was the one who had pushed Isabella, step by step, into the abyss.
"Don't make me get on my knees and beg you, Donny."
William's usual arrogance had vanished. He had become small and low, like a different person altogether.
Donny closed his eyes and clenched his fists tight.
In his mind, he pictured the day he would see Isabella again. The memory stretched further and further back.
He remembered being a child, sitting next to Isabella at their shared desk.
"I won't let you bully Donny."
Donny shook his head, slowly opened his eyes, and loosened his fists.
"We'll see."
By now, he was certain that Ambrose would not die; he would only be made to endure the pain of the flesh.
Donny went back to the hillside.
He wore a straw hat, and his skin had been burned dark by the sun.
Sweat streamed down his face, soaking the shirt on his back.
He grabbed the towel around his neck and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
He had put up a simple wooden cabin on the slope.
Every day, limping, he watered and fertilized those neatly arranged mounds of earth.
He stood in the sunlight, waiting for the seeds to push up their first green shoots.
At dusk, Donny would sit alone at the top of the hill, quietly watching the sun sink below the horizon.
He had chosen this place well. When evening came,
cool air moved through the grass, and a skyful of bright stars appeared overhead.
Donny lay back on the ground, listening to the chirping of crickets.
The blades of grass he had flattened brushed lightly against his ears.
It tickled.