The Lie Of That Night Chapter 18
One month later, on a private island.
The sea breeze carried a warm scent, stirring the sheer curtains and bringing with it faint sounds from afar.
Gretchen had recovered very well.
At this moment, her complexion was radiant.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, gazing at the endless blue where sea and sky met, her expression relaxed.
“Greta, it’s time for your tonic.”
Eleanor brought the tonic carefully prepared by the holistic physician.
She sat beside her daughter, her eyes gentle. “How are you feeling today? Is your chest still tight?”
“Much better, Mom.”
Gretchen set down her plate, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “Really. I feel… I haven’t breathed this easily in a long time.”
Eleanor’s eyes grew warm as she gently held her daughter’s hand.
“That’s good, that’s good. Your father went fishing early this morning, said he wants to catch the freshest grouper to make soup for you. Seb…”
She paused, a little helpless yet proud. “He ‘sorted out’ a few restless little groups nearby again, said he wants to make sure everything is absolutely peaceful.”
Gretchen let out a soft laugh.
That was indeed Sebastian’s style.
Ever since the attack that day, Sebastian had been on edge, managing the island like a fortress. Even a suspicious seabird flying by would probably be checked three times.
But this excessive protection brought with it an unprecedented sense of security.
In the afternoon, she took gentle rehabilitation walks accompanied by her therapist.
That heavy fatigue and weakness were gradually being dispelled by the sea breeze and sunlight.
She began to try some hobbies she had set aside for a long time.
There was a spacious studio in the villa, facing the most beautiful view of the bay.
At first, she only stared out the window, the tip of her brush hovering above the canvas, not knowing where to begin.
Those intense, suffocating emotions — pain, anger, despair, sadness…
It seemed that most of them had been taken away by that shooting, leaving behind a blank space.
Later, she began to paint the sea.
She painted the sunlit, golden-tipped waves, the clouds at dusk dyed a rosy purple, and the Milky Way in the night sky, so clear it seemed within reach.
Her brushstrokes went from awkward to smooth, her colors from dull to bright.
She did not paint quickly; often a single painting would take several days. But Logan and Eleanor never rushed her, only coming quietly each day to look, then exchanging satisfied glances.
Sebastian brought in a piano and placed it in the glass sunroom facing the garden.
Gretchen had learned piano for a few years in her youth, but later abandoned it for various reasons.
Now, she would occasionally play for a while.
Music had a peculiar healing power. When she focused on the black and white keys, those fragmented images of the past seemed to blur and drift away.
She began to read regularly.
The villa’s study was filled with an astonishing collection of books, from obscure philosophical works to lighthearted novels and travelogues — everything one could wish for.
She often spent half a day in the rocking chair on the terrace.
The sunlight was warm, the world of words vast and tranquil, enough to hold any thought and let one forget, at least for a while.
The nutritionist had tailored the most scientific diet plan for her. With tonic and moderate exercise, her body improved at a visibly rapid pace.
Her once pale cheeks gained color, her thin shoulders gradually filled out, and even her eyes regained their sparkle.
In the morning, she stood before the mirror, surprised to find that the sorrow that once lingered between her brows had faded to almost nothing.
In its place was a kind of relaxed serenity.
The sea breeze was gentle, carrying a sense of freedom, lifting the soft hair at her cheeks.
She closed her eyes, and the heart in her chest, once riddled with wounds, was beating steadily.
The end.