“Oh, Clara,” she giggled, eyes sparkling cruelly. “I’ve heard prisoners react like that. I just wanted to see for myself… a little experiment. Just a joke.”
I turned slowly. Damian stood beside her, hand lightly resting on her arm.
“That’s enough,” he said softly, but firmly. “No more jokes like that.”
Chiara blinked at him and smiled sweetly. “Okay.”
The way they looked at each other made my stomach churn. Even in front of me, they couldn’t stop. Still touching, still flirting, acting like I didn’t exist.
I thought about the box of condoms upstairs. My chest went cold.
---
By evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I met Mara at a small restaurant. The warm, dim light felt like a tiny comfort in the world that had turned against me.
Her eyes widened as she saw me. “Clara… you look terrible. Why don’t you stay with me for a while?”
I shook my head. “No. I just… I need you to help me find the evidence. Fast.”
She didn’t press me. Instead, she ordered a table full of food, her voice gentle. “Eat something. You look like you haven’t touched a meal in days.”
I barely managed to lift a spoon when I froze.
Chiara had entered. And with her, the little girl—dressed perfectly, smiling like she owned the room. My heart seized when I saw the child. I couldn’t look away.
Of course, Chiara noticed. She drew the girl close, her voice loud and deliberate.
“Lella, be good. Understand? There’s a murderer here. She killed her own child. If you misbehave, the police might take you away, too.”
I froze in place, my throat tightening.
Then she turned, her eyes locking on mine, smiling that poisonous smile. “Clara… ten years have passed. Are you still comfortable eating out here?”
The restaurant fell into an unnatural silence. Every gaze in the room landed on me, piercing, judging.
Whispers slithered through the air.
“That’s her?”
“She killed her daughter?”
“She doesn’t look insane…”
Their words cut sharper than any physical wound. Ten years in prison hadn’t freed me. The moment the world learned what I supposedly did, they turned. Made me eat off the floor, clean up after them, take beatings that tore my skin raw. Every “child killer” hurled at me made me wish I could disappear.
And even now, hearing her voice, I began to tremble. My throat burned, my hands shook.
Then Mara’s voice snapped through the tension—sharp, furious. “Chiara! You’re the murderer!”