Chapter 160

Chapter 160
Sienna's POV

My mother tremblingly took out a metal box from the bedside table drawer—the box Martin had mentioned.

"This... I want to show you."

I took the box and opened it—

Inside lay quietly a braided friendship bracelet, its colorful cotton threads faded and worn, but still intact. It was the gift I had made for my mother in arts and crafts class when I was in school.

My hands began to tremble, tears instantly welling up: "You... you kept it all this time?"

"All this time." My mother's voice choked up. "All these years, no matter how many times we moved, I kept it in the safest place. Every time I saw it, I would remember... you as a little girl running up to me with it, saying 'Mommy, this is my gift for you'..."

I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my face. I thought my mother had long since thrown away this crude friendship bracelet, thought she had never cared about my gesture.

My mother continued to take out a stack of photos from the box—all pictures of me as a child: me at five performing in a kindergarten show, wearing a little dress and smiling brilliantly; me at seven learning to ride a bike for the first time, getting up and continuing to try after falling; me at nine winning an award at the school art exhibition, holding up the certificate with a shy smile...

"These photos... I've always carried them with me." My mother's voice was soft. "I know I have no right to say I love you, but Sienna... I never forgot you. I just... I didn't know how to face you. I was afraid to see you, because every time I saw you, I would think about how much we had failed..."

I stared at these photos, my vision blurred with tears. I had never imagined that my mother would have treasured these things for so many years.

My mother reached out her hand, hesitated for a moment, then gently held mine. I didn't pull away, just continued crying.

"Sienna, I know saying sorry is too late." My mother's voice was full of self-reproach. "Your father and I missed your growing up, missed every moment when you needed us. We weren't there when you were sick to take care of you, we weren't there when you won awards to be proud of you, we weren't there when you were sad to hold you... we weren't good parents."

She paused, tears flowing continuously: "We were too immersed in the pain of losing our son, too busy blaming each other, too busy with arguments and resentment... we forgot we still had a living daughter, a child who equally needed love."

"But I want you to know..." my mother gripped my hand tightly, "you're good. You're already good enough. You don't need to prove yourself to anyone, including us. Your worth never depended on whether we saw you... you deserve to be loved just as you are."

"But it took me so many years... to believe that..." I looked up at my mother through tear-blurred eyes.

"I know... it's all our fault." My mother choked up. "If we could do it over, we would hold you every time you brought home a report card and say 'we're proud of you'; we would stay by your bedside when you were sick; we would tell you 'Mom and Dad are here' when you were sad... but we can't do it over. I can only... ask you to give me a chance, let me try to make amends."

I was silent for a long time, tears flowing continuously. I looked at the friendship bracelet and photos in the box, at my mother's face full of wrinkles and guilt, and the cold wall deep in my heart began to crack.

"I don't know if I can completely forgive you." My voice was hoarse. "It will take time... maybe a very, very long time."

"I understand... I don't expect you to forgive us immediately. I just hope... you can give me a chance to prove I want to change." My mother nodded vigorously.

I took a deep breath and pulled out the silver star necklace from my pocket—the birthday gift my mother had asked Martin to give me. I had been carrying it with me but hadn't put it on.

At this moment, I slowly put the necklace around my neck.

Seeing this gesture, my mother instantly broke down, covering her mouth and crying silently.

"I'm putting this on... not because I've forgiven you." My voice was soft but firm. "I'm putting it on because... I don't want to be imprisoned by resentment anymore. I want to be free."

"Thank you... thank you for giving me a chance..." my mother nodded through her tears.

I stood up, taking a deep breath. "Get well first. When you're discharged... if you're willing, we can try to... get to know each other again."

"Don't move, rest well." My mother was excited and tried to get up, but I pressed her shoulder down.

"I will... I will live well... I won't run away anymore..." my mother held my hand, her voice trembling.

I nodded, then gently withdrew my hand and turned toward the door.

As I gripped the door handle, my mother suddenly called out to me.

I turned back.

My mother's eyes were full of tears, but also held a glimmer of hope.

"I love you."

"I know." My throat tightened, I was silent for a moment, my voice very soft.

I didn't say "I love you too," but I also didn't say "I don't believe you." I just nodded and pushed open the door to leave.

---

As soon as I closed the door, my legs gave out. I leaned against the corridor wall, my whole body trembling—not from cold, but from the emotional storm I had just experienced.

Hayes immediately appeared beside me, his arms around me, but he didn't speak, just let me lean against him.

I could no longer control myself and cried silently. Hayes held me tightly, one hand pressed against the back of my head, letting my face bury in his shoulder. He didn't say any comforting words, just held me tight, as if trying to absorb all my pain into his own body.

I cried in his arms for a long time, until the tears dried up and my body's trembling gradually subsided. I looked up, my eyes red and swollen, my voice hoarse.

"Let's... go."

"Okay." Hayes gently wiped the tear stains from my face with his thumb.