Indeed, the bitterness of resentment swept over her with such force that it seemed to overwhelm her head. Meanwhile, the waitress brought over a cup of steaming, fragrant cappuccino. And as it turned out, very opportunely.
For in those 10 seconds, the girl managed to pull herself together. So who’s the girl? And when did you start having these? She couldn’t find the words. This relationship for three months, I just couldn’t tell you.
First, the accident, then your illness, then your father’s death. There was always something in the way. Nancy covered her eyes.
This was the most humiliating thing she had ever experienced. When she opened them again with her side vision, she saw Jenna approaching them and she understood everything. This girl was the daughter of Jacob’s father’s business partner, the sole heiress to the owner of a lucrative construction company.
A real princess, a socialite, exactly what she wanted for her son. Jacob, the mother, fighting back tears. Nancy raised her head and met Jenna’s gaze.
It was winsome and defiant. What made the girl inwardly shudder? Nancy stared at her, however, and forced herself to squeeze out a chuckle. No one would see her tears.
Certainly not this Barbie with nails and hair and eyelashes. Jenna is moving in with me. Jacob apparently decided to be consistent and finish off his now ex-fiancee one step at a time.
I have some packing to do. Nancy tried to keep her voice firm, but it treacherously shook. I’ll take your things in my car.
Where do you say? Nancy stared into the void for a second, then slowly turned her head and met his eyes. Just take them out of the trunk and get out of my life. She blurted out in a tired voice.
An hour later, she was sobbing in her mother’s arms. In the small kitchen, where the kettle boiled on the stove and smelled of childhood. How nice that it was Saturday and her mother had the day off.
Nancy wasn’t overly sentimental, but at the moment this house, this place where she’d grown up, seemed the only island of refuge from the rush of emotion from the betrayal of the man she’d given three years of her life to. The past few months had been a shock to the girl. First, there was a terrible accident in which she almost died, and she needed a blood transfusion.
This led to the discovery that she was not her parents’ natural daughter. She was taken from an orphanage years ago, and no one knows where she came from or who let her into this world. I had to look for a donor with the right blood type.
Second, her father had a stroke from worry and died in the ambulance. Without regaining consciousness, Nancy held his hand at that moment. This morning was the last straw, and Nancy did not hesitate to sob, inhaling the familiar scent of valerian and such a familiar perfume from her mother’s home robe.
Come on, honey, stop it. Really, you cannot. Everything will work out.
Molly stroked her daughter’s hair, struggling to hold back her own tears. He is not worth it. The woman pondered.
The spoiled son of rich parents. The golden boy of the majors. Not at all a match for my smart, self-sufficient, beautiful daughter.
They sat in the kitchen until late afternoon, drinking no less than a tankard of strong mint tea. Subsequently, washing the whole affair down with a homemade cherry tincture, they went to bed. Nancy tucked herself into her old room, where everything was as it had been the day she had left her doorstep and moved in with Jacob.
That was two years ago. She curled up on the creaky bed after all the excitement of the day, the night shift at the hospital, and the alcohol, and fell into a deep sleep. And I saw the woman in the old dress again, calling into her secret world.
This time she was leading Nancy down a spiral staircase that seemed to lead to the bowels of the earth. Nancy tried to call out to her, but she kept going down. She could hear her dress rustling on the stone steps, breaking the silence of this strange corridor.
Finally, they found themselves in front of a door with a picture of plant stalks. Intertwined with each other in an ominous bouquet, there were wormwood, nettle, and chamomile. Nancy didn’t know the name of the others.
After counting nine different stems, the girl took a deep breath and woke up. It was still dark. A cool breeze moved the curtains near the open window, and Nancy was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, like she was running a cross-country course over hilly terrain in her chest.
Her eyes were double, and her fingertips tingled as if they were electrified. She was thirsty. She wandered barefoot into the kitchen, poured a glass of boiling water, and drank it in one gulp.
My head was pounding, and Nancy looked with hatred at the empty Naluka bottle next to the sink. The clock in the hallway read four o’clock. Suddenly, the dream came to mind.
It was so vivid and believable that Nancy thought it was real. What was that drawing on that door? What was the woman who burst into her consciousness every time? The girl pulled her laptop out of her suitcase and sat down on the bed, placing it on her lap. So, what is she looking for? Plants.
Symbols. Signs. The woman with the ring.
What nonsense. As a result, she printed wormwood. Chamomile.
Nettle. Google immediately gave a continuation of plantain. Fennel.
Grease. Applewood. Common bruise.
Curvy. Nine sacred herbs. And then the references.
Conspiracy of the Order of Witches. Bouquet of witches. Herbs.
Black magic. White magic. Nancy was discouraged.
What more witch bouquet? Thinking it all a silly idea, she set the laptop aside and threw herself on her pillow. Jacob’s words came to mind. I love someone else.
And tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. The day after tomorrow was her birthday. And this time there would be no Jacob, no daddy at her side.
And then there was the night shift at the hospital. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know her birth story. Her roots, her heritage, and even who had given her the ripe rye hair and those big green eyes.
Sunday afternoon dragged on for an incredibly long time. At her parents’ house, time seemed to stand still. My mother was cooking something in the kitchen to the sound of the television.
Behind the wall, a neighbor’s child was practicing his violin outside, enjoying the May sunshine. The children were making noise. I missed my father very much.
His kind glance, his wise advice, and just a shoulder to cry on. They had always had an awe-inspiring relationship with their father. His passing was a real blow to Nancy.
The strange tingling of her fingertips had increased by the evening. And the girl grew restless. It was as if they had become electrified.
And touching one another was painful. On top of that, her eyesight and sense of smell were impaired. And she caught a virus.
Nancy thought as she went to bed and covered herself with a blanket. She was shivering with cold. She spent the night without dreams, waking and falling asleep again and again.
Faces and strange objects appeared. And in the end, Nancy was completely exhausted. She opened her eyes.
The morning greeted her with torrential rain. Through the open window, the maddening aromas of rain, lilac, and wet asphalt wafted in. The air was generously saturated with ozone and made her head spin.
In the bathroom, the girl glanced in the mirror. She looked at her completely exhausted, bent over with dark circles under her eyes and a pale face. It was all because of stress.