Chapter 75
Making a Scene Over Nothing
He stared at me, genuine confusion creasing his forehead.
"What gift hampers are you talking about? I don't recall you ever giving me anything like that."
The words landed like a slap.
He hadn't just dismissed it. He had erased it. Completely.
All my careful effort, the danger of the harvest, the days of preparation, the sleepless nights, it had left no mark on him at all. It was worse than being thrown away. In his world, it had never existed.
A cold, brittle laugh slipped from my throat, sounding strange and hollow in the heavy silence of the library.
"See?" I whispered, the hurt hardening into something sharp inside. "You don't even remember. How could I ever believe you'd value me, when you can't remember something made with my own hands, something I risked myself to give you? I gave it to you after you had an accident."
Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition, distant and reluctant. Then irritation rushed in to smother it.
