Ivina was nearly an hour later than usual.
Running to her front door, the girl in the rain sighed softly.
The umbrella seemed unable to block anything, so Ivina shook her shoulder-length hair to shake off the water droplets.
Just as she was about to open the door, the lively laughter inside was so clear, but it stopped the moment she entered.
She wasn't disappointed. She took off her soaked shoes and socks and waited for permission to enter.
"Ivina, why are you so late?"
"I…" Ivina hesitated. She didn't want to lie to her stepfather. No, as a Christian, she shouldn't lie to anyone.
His indifferent words and cold tone were colder than the rain and wind outside, but what did it matter? Over the years, she had almost gotten used to it.
"I think…" Leia deliberately dragged out her words to attract attention.
"Today is my sister Ivina's birthday, isn't it? She must have gone to that dirty second-hand bookstore to pick up some cheap goods. Look, we've all forgotten about it. She must be very sad now, right, sister?"
Ivina's heart grew utterly cold. This was her sister, a relative sharing half the same blood.
Forcing a smile, Ivina's calm eyes turned to her mother, Isandra. She longed for a simple "Happy Birthday."
But in her eyes, she saw her beautiful yet indifferent mother.
A bitter taste filled her heart.
"I had some snacks outside... Dad, Mom, sister, enjoy your meal." Dragging her weary feet up the stairs, she knew no one would ask her to stay for dinner.
After finishing all the chores, Ivina was sore all over. Lying on the simple bed, she drifted off into a sweet dream.
She had a strange dream.
Chaos, darkness, bizarre sequences and scenes. A man dressed in strange clothing stared at her intently, his despair heartbreaking... The scene cut away like a signal interruption. Now, she walked alone, aimlessly. Suddenly, a hunchbacked old woman knelt before her. She hurriedly bent down to help the frail old woman up... Only to see a face covered in wrinkles, sunken cheeks, her skin pale, her face covered in pus-filled tumors, her features twisted, screaming in agony, "Help me, help me..."
"Don't come closer! Don't come closer!" Ivina woke up from the dream, drenched in cold sweat. In seventeen years, she had never slept so restlessly.
A cool breeze blew in through the window, and she had to pull the blankets tighter around herself to continue sleeping. However, the lingering unease refused to fade.
Was she missing her father? It made sense. Today was her birthday, and she had forgotten to make a wish to him. No wonder her father was sending her nightmares to punish her.
Ivina tapped her forehead lightly and made a funny face at the dark night sky. Only with her father did she have such a mischievous side.
"Alright, it's so late. I hope Dad hasn't gone to sleep yet. Your little treasure... is coming to talk to you..."
Ivina carefully took out the yellowed piece of paper, tears already streaming down her face.
"Today is March 9th, your birthday. Dad should have been by your side to celebrate with you. But I feel like my life is slipping away too quickly, and now even lifting my hand to write is a struggle. But, Nana, my dear daughter, happy birthday. Allow me to offer only a single blessing to repay every birthday in your long life ahead. You'll probably ask me for a gift, right? I've already prepared one for you, but unfortunately… there are only eight copies. Each one is a book I carefully selected for you... but there are only eight. And my only wish before I depart is that Nana will come to fill the void left by my absence as a father. On every birthday henceforth, choose a good book for yourself. When you miss me, open them and read them aloud to your book-loving father, okay?
Don't be sad. Dad is always by your side, watching my proud daughter overcome setbacks and smile at me, saying, "Dad, I'm happy."
Take care of yourself.
My little treasure, Nana.
After a few lines, the words become blurry again.
Nana, actually…
Below the signature is a pool of blood. The last sentence Dad wanted to add is obscured by the bloodstain.
As a child, she was curious about what Dad had written. But as she grew older, she began to feel a deep sorrow for that old bloodstain. It must have been a vivid crimson at the time—how much pain must Dad have endured…
The words on the paper have faded with time, becoming barely legible. But it doesn't matter; she has them memorized.