Chapter 53 | Hate Is Born When Love Has Failed

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"Elena, sweetie?" The brown-haired woman dropped her crocodile tears, exposing the smile she had concealed.

"We have great news— or actually, it's your mother who has great news," he also gleamed, looking at his wife with anticipation.

I didn't reply nor show any gesture for them to continue. Frankly, I didn't want to hear it. I wanted them to leave me alone. I had no belief in them anymore; they broke every inch of hope that I once had.

They meant nothing to me. They only fueled hatred and pain.

"I got a promotion," she smiled widely. She actually had the authenticity to smile.

It disgusted me beyond. At the same time rage was growing, a sadness moved in as well. There and then, I realized that I did not obtain any value for them.

I am worthless. A nobody.

Living is worthless for one without a home. Involuntary love is worthless.

And then I realized: It's not worth it.

Her cheery face was shining, and it looked like she had forgotten what had happened.

All I could see from the sad disappointment that filtered my eyes was an empty love. A mirror that reflected my feelings of being neglected for years was now finally surfacing.

There was only a cold breeze swarming around them — a breeze that could easily turn a wind into a catastrophe.

But they would never see these dreadful colors bleeding from my heart. They were blind to emotions. They can't detect feelings, only see what they want to. They only understand words, but never the colors behind them.

These people were heartless, hollow of emotions and humanity.

A cold expression burned my face, and I looked away from them, averting my attention to the gray wall that contained more feelings than these two people combined.

It's not worth it.

The man stepped forward, "Elena, didn't you hear your mother?"

"Wait, I actually have one?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could taste them. They were harsh and icy, like a start of a wintry breeze.

"Elena!" He raised his voice, but I didn't flinch as most kids would. "Here we are, flying all the way from New York to only be met with disrespect? You could at least have acted a bit happy for your mother."

That was the last straw. The last drop in the cup. The last, final push, and now. . . I can't.

I've hit the bottom.

"Happy? Happy? HAPPY?!" I repeated with disgust, raising my voice for every word and filling them with silent tears. "I lost my best friend — my family! Do you have any idea what I'm feeling? How completely lost I am? Can't you see that I'm hurting?"

The memories worked as a fuel to keep the dead fire alive, to keep drowning my broken heart in ache. "I'm in pain, and you want me to be happy? To be happy for that woman I barely know?"

"Stop it!" He shouted above my screaming voice, giving me a look of disapproval. "That's enough. You have crossed the line—"

"Oh, like you're anything better," I spat the poisonous words. "You are nothing more than a stranger like her!"

"Elena!" The woman gave me a similar look like her husband, her eyebrows knitted in condemnation. "That's your father you're—"

"I don't have one," I growled. "Nor a mother."

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