Chapter 142 011
VIVIAN stared at Fiona as though she had spoken in another language.
“What?” she asked again, her brows knitting together.
Fiona nodded, her excitement returning, though more restrained now.
“I’m telling you. I saw him at the airport. Clear as day. Adrian Cole. He came in like someone who had just arrived in the city. Small luggage, straight posture. Looked like business or something.”
Vivian scoffed softly and turned her face away. She said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Fiona’s shoulders sagged.
“Hey… I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Sorry if I brought back something you are trying so hard to forget.”
Vivian inhaled deeply, then let it out in a shaky breath.
“It is fine,” she said. “I brought it upon myself anyway. It is fine.”
“You sure?” Fiona asked, studying her face.
“Yes,” Vivian replied quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am.”
Fiona smiled back, though it was tentative.
“Alright then.”
She stood up, smoothing her dress.
“I think I should go get ready for work before my boss fires my ass.”
Vivian let out a short, sad laugh.
“Fair enough for you. At least you have a job. I’m here, trying to feed off you.” She dropped back against the couch dramatically. “Oh God.”
Fiona frowned slightly and walked back to her.
“Please, Vivian. Please. I’m not complaining, okay? You are my best friend. Your responsibility is my responsibility too. Don’t turn it into something else.”
Vivian looked up at her, eyes glossy.
“I know.”
“I need to go get ready,” Fiona said gently. “Please, take care of yourself.”
“Alright, huni.”
Fiona hurried up the stairs, already pulling off her jacket.
“You too, baby!” she called back.
Vivian forced another smile.
“Always.”
The house fell quiet again once Fiona disappeared upstairs.
Vivian sat there for a long moment, staring at the wall. Her phone buzzed faintly beside her, but she didn’t reach for it. Fiona’s words replayed in her mind, over and over.
Adrian Cole.
In town.
Her chest tightened.
She leaned back, closing her eyes briefly, memories pressing in uninvited. A man who once looked at her like she was everything. A man whose life had spun wildly out of control afterward. A woman— no, a family— left shattered in the wake of choices that could never be undone.
She opened her eyes slowly.
“So… you are back,” she murmured to no one in particular.
Her lips curved into a faint, complicated smile, one part regret, one part curiosity, one part something dangerously close to hope.
“What exactly brought you here?” she asked the empty room.
The silence didn’t answer.
But deep down, Vivian knew one thing: some consequences didn’t knock. They simply returned.
The morning sun hung comfortably above the open field as the children clustered around their teachers, notebooks and water bottles in hand. It was science period, and today’s lesson had taken them out of the classroom and into nature itself. Trees lined the far edges of the field, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze, while patches of grass and small shrubs dotted the ground.
“Remember,” one of the teachers called out, “this is an observation exercise. Look around you. The environment tells stories if you pay attention.”
The children buzzed with excitement. Learning outside always felt like freedom to them. Why not? There were no desks, no chalkboards, no strict silence. Some knelt to examine ants marching in lines, others pointed at birds perched on low branches. Laughter floated through the air, light and carefree.
Gabriel stood with Gaddiel and a few of their classmates near a cluster of rocks at the edge of the field.
“See this plant?” Gaddiel said importantly, crouching. “Daddy said it helps clean the air.”
Gabriel squinted at it.
“It just looks like grass.”
“It is not just grass,” Gaddiel insisted. “Everything in the environment does something.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes but smiled. He stepped backward to get a better look at the tall tree behind them, lifting his head to trace the branches stretching into the sky.
That was when it happened.
His heel caught on something hidden in the grass.
“Gabe—!” Gaddiel shouted.
Gabriel stumbled forward, arms flailing as he tried to regain balance. His foot slipped again, and he fell hard to the ground. A sharp, jagged object— half buried and unseen— scraped across his left hand.
The pain was immediate.
“Ahhhh!” Gabriel screamed.
Blood spilled quickly, bright red against his skin, dripping onto the dirt below.
The chatter in the field died instantly.
Children gasped.
“Oh my God!”
“Blood!”
“Teacher! Teacher!”
Some of the students screamed in panic, others backed away, eyes wide. Gaddiel dropped to his knees beside his brother, his face draining of color as he stared at the blood soaking Gabriel’s palm.
“Gabriel!” he cried. “Don’t move! Don’t move!”
Gabriel sobbed, clutching his hand instinctively, his face contorted in pain and fear.
“It hurts! It hurts!”
Within seconds, teachers were rushing toward them.
“Everyone move back!” one of them commanded sharply. “Give him space!”
Another teacher knelt beside Gabriel, her expression focused but tense as she gently took his wrist.
“Okay, sweetheart, let me see.”
Gabriel whimpered as she examined the wound, blood continuing to gush through her fingers.
“We need the first aid kit,” she called out urgently.
“I’m getting it!” another teacher responded, already sprinting toward the school building.
The children stood frozen, whispers rippling through the group like a wave.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Why is there so much blood?”
Gaddiel’s eyes filled with tears.
“He didn’t mean to fall,” he said repeatedly, as if explaining it would somehow fix things.
The teacher pressed a clean cloth firmly against Gabriel’s hand.
“You are very brave,” she said calmly, though her voice carried urgency. “Just keep looking at me, okay?”
Gabriel nodded weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks as his cries softened into shaky sobs.
More teachers gathered, forming a protective circle around him, while the rest of the class was gently herded away.
The peaceful field that had moments ago echoed with laughter now felt heavy and tense, the lesson abruptly forgotten.
All that remained was the sharp scent of earth… and the sound of a child crying in pain.