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This is an important chapter that was not included in the original but in the (now deleted bc of Wattpad) Annie version. So please don't leave hate comments towards Anastasia in this chapter before understanding her character. Thank you. —————— Anastasia's POV Optional music.
There was a book I read once.
A book called "Avery's Gift in Life".
It was a children's book. Although the theme was quite mature.
A girl, Avery, was abandoned on the streets in a box at a young age. An old grandmother took her in and decided to raise her as her own. She would bake with her, clean with her, go out into the town with her, sew and draw with her. Ideal motherly stuff. But then one day the grandmother had fallen ill and passed away at random. Leaving little Avery all alone.
She was sad and thought her life was over. She wasn't herself anymore. But one day, a boy came knocking at her door asking to retrieve a ball from the backyard. She let him in and allowed him to search for the ball. But he couldn't find it after a long while.
The boy was sad too. He had also lost something special to him. Although their situations were very different, she sympathized for him. She made the boy tea and put all her efforts into cheering him up. After that day they became good friends. It was the beginning of a love story.
But I had no idea what love was. I was so invested in the story as a kid. I didn't have friends or loving parents like Avery did, so I wanted to be her. I wanted to feel loved like her. Even though it was only a book. I wanted to feel those feelings.
It's only natural for humans to crave what they don't have in life.
The rain was heavy and the sky was dark. It was late spring and the weather had been horrible all week. Perfect for a funeral.
My mother had died 2 weeks ago. Dad said it was an accident but I know that's a lie. 2 weeks ago he had come home from work ridiculously drunk, my mom was upset that he was being so careless. They were arguing and shouting. The sound of glass shattering had echoed through the house loud enough to wake me up. It was bad. But dad insisted she slipped and hit her head on the corner of the table. Although I didn't buy that.
I didn't have much thought on her death. We weren't close at all. In fact, we never had a full-on conversation. Not once. I only went to her funeral because dad forced me to.
Same with with. They thought of me as a disappointment, a burden. It seemed that every chance he had he would scold me for being useless and ungrateful. Somewhere along the line I had started to believe it.
