Andrew walked to his mansion-like house, feeling tired and done with himself and with life.
It was pouring heavily, but for the first time, the man who always cared about his image and hygiene couldn't care less about bringing out an umbrella.
His strides were slow and haggard, almost like every step towards his own house was draining him of life.
The man stopped before the gates and looked inside the empty, dark halls. The bright halls, Elara's soft voice, her giggles, and the excited presence of home-cooked food flashed through his mind, and a sad smile appeared on his face.
It had been eight days since his conversation with Timothy, since knowing the truth, since his grandfather taking his last breath, and since his father fighting and still being in a coma.
His mother was no better. Regret consumed her when she realized she had bullied Elara, the woman who was actually good to them and had helped the woman who was living proof of her husband's betrayal.
