Chapter 14: The Weight of Memories

Her curiosity and worry urged her forward. She approached the door and knocked softly, but no response came. Hesitating for a moment, she gently pushed the door open and called out:

“Layla, are you here?”

The room was bathed in shadows, save for a faint light glowing from a lamp beside the baby’s crib. Olivia stepped cautiously toward it, her gaze landing on the small figure wailing incessantly. The child’s swollen cheeks bore evidence of prolonged tears.

Standing before the crib, Olivia froze, unsure of what to do. She extended a hesitant hand, her fingers trembling as if afraid to disturb the fragile being. Her voice, soft and filled with pity, broke the silence:

“Shh, little one. Calm down… Where’s your mother? I don’t know how to soothe you… shhh.”

But the child’s cries only grew louder, defying her fragile attempts. At last, she bent down and lifted the baby with extreme caution, as though cradling a delicate piece of crystal that could shatter in her grasp.

The infant’s cries began to subside as she nestled against Olivia’s chest. Gradually, her breaths steadied, and the tears ceased, as if finding a fleeting sanctuary in Olivia’s hesitant embrace.

As Olivia rocked the baby gently, the door flew open, and Layla rushed in, her face a mask of worry and guilt. She spoke quickly, her voice tinged with panic:

“Lady Olivia, I’m so sorry for the delay! I was speaking with my brother and left her alone.”

Olivia glanced at her with a faint smile, masking a deep sadness that flickered in her eyes.

“It’s alright. She’s calm now.”

Layla moved closer, extending her arms to take the baby. But Olivia didn’t let go immediately, her gaze lingering on the child as though holding onto a fragile, fleeting moment she couldn’t bear to lose. Layla’s voice cut through the silence, firm yet kind:

“My sister-in-law, give me the baby.”

After a brief hesitation, Olivia handed over the child without a word. She turned abruptly, her steps quick as if she was fleeing the weight of unspoken thoughts. But before she could leave, Layla reached out and gently grasped her wrist, her voice soft with concern:

“Are you alright? You look so pale. You seem… different.”

Olivia pulled her hand free, her tone low, betraying her unease:

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Layla smiled warmly, her words meant to ease the tension:

“That’s a relief. I thought my daughter might have upset you. But you know, you seem to have a soft spot for children, more than I would’ve thought. Perhaps you should have a child of your own.”

Olivia froze, the weight of the words hitting her like a blow. For a moment, she stood there, her face a mixture of pain and resignation. A faint, melancholic smile curved her lips as she responded in a voice that seemed to mock her own fate:

“Yes… perhaps I should.”

Without another word, she left the room, her steps heavy with the burden of memories. The hallway stretched before her, but her destination felt farther than ever. Her heart thudded against her chest, echoing with the pain of truths she could never escape.

Olivia slammed the door behind her, as if trying to prevent the outside world from piercing the walls of her isolation. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her hand trembling as she made her way to the dark corner of her room where a small wardrobe stood.

She opened it with urgency, pulling out three bottles of liquor and a glass. She haphazardly placed them on the table before collapsing to the floor, as though she had lost the strength to stand.

She began to pour the drink into the glass, downing it quickly, as if searching for solace in the sharpness of its taste, seeking a reprieve from the weight of her thoughts. She sipped from the first glass, then the second, and with every swallow, her emotions surged within her, burning like flames.

She let out a bitter laugh, a laugh that seemed to carry the bitterness of the whole world, and said in a choked voice:

“Ha ha… maybe I deserve this? Oh, Olivia, how could you say those words?”

She set the glass aside and gripped her head with both hands, desperately trying to fend off the images that began to flood her mind. But the memories came crashing like an unstoppable wave, flooding her with a past she couldn’t escape. She found herself drowning in a vortex of recollections, returning to the day that had changed everything.

Olivia had been sitting on her bed, holding her child in her arms. She wasn’t doing anything but crying, her tears streaming down relentlessly, carving sorrowful paths on her pale face. She glanced at the midwife who stood beside her, unable to say anything that might ease her pain.

“Please…” Olivia said, her voice barely audible over her sobs. “Why is my baby so cold? Why isn’t he breathing? Why?”

The midwife lowered her head, unable to look into Olivia’s eyes, and then spoke in a heavy tone:

“Madam… unfortunately, he was stillborn. There’s nothing we can do. I gave you the child to see him before we bury him. Please, hand him over.”

But Olivia slowly lifted her head, her features frozen and as cold as ice. She responded with a voice thickened by shock:

“I don’t want to. This is my child… I won’t let you take him.”

The midwife tried to gently convince her, but she was speaking to a woman in denial, a woman crushed by fate:

“Madam, he’s dead. You must be patient.”

Olivia remained silent, holding the child in her arms as though he were a piece of her soul that could not be torn away. She whispered to him in broken words:

“Mommy is here, my little one… Mommy will stay with you… I’ll protect you.”

The midwife, now fearful of Olivia’s state, sent for Matthias, her husband. He entered the room quietly, but his red eyes bore witness to the pain he tried to conceal. He approached her and extended his hand, saying:

“Olivia, hand me the child. I’ll take him to bury him… he’s dead.”

Olivia lifted her eyes to him, filled with contempt and fury, as though she saw him as nothing more than a traitor. She cried out in a trembling voice:

“I can’t believe you… You too want to bury our son! He’s fine, he’s not suffering from anything!”

Matthias remained composed, despite the sorrow that overshadowed his face. He leaned closer to her and said firmly:

“Olivia, hand me the child… now!”

In his eyes, she saw a cruelty she had never known before, a cruelty that hid depths of sorrow and despair. Finally, she relented, handing him the child in silence, as if giving him away was like handing over a piece of her heart.

Matthias left the room, arranging a small funeral. But she was not there. She could not bring herself to attend, remaining locked in her room, sinking deeper into her depression, living every moment as though she were trapped in an endless circle of pain.

Olivia returned from her memories to the harsh grip of reality. The bottle before her was almost empty, and the glass still lingered in her hand. She let out a tired laugh, then whispered hoarsely to herself:

“You must have a child… Layla, if only you knew…”

She continued her delirious mutterings, swaying, having overindulged in drink until she surrendered completely to intoxication. Her words carried the weight of years and the pain of the past; her voice cracked, and her tears flowed relentlessly. She whispered, gripping her glass tightly:

“I’ve spent my life hating that woman… I always said I’d be a better mother than her… but she didn’t kill me, I killed my child!”

She bit down on her lower lip so hard it tore, the blood flowing freely as she paid no heed to the pain. Her trembling hand found its way to her neck, trying to loosen the dress. She gasped for air, speaking in broken breaths:

“Ah… this dress is tight… I need some air.”

She staggered, struggling to stand, her feet barely able to bear her exhausted frame. A wave of panic surged within her, her breath growing shorter and heavier, and the memories began to close in like walls, suffocating her. She stumbled from her room, clutching the walls, desperate for relief.

She walked down the dim corridor with heavy steps, and then suddenly, her breath stopped completely, and she collapsed against one of the doors. In a faint, trembling voice, she began to knock, as though pleading for any soul to rescue her from suffocation.

On the other side of the door, Matthias sat behind his desk, absorbed in his papers. The sudden sound of a fall, followed by weak knocks, caused him to look up, his expression filled with concern. He called out:

“Please, come in.”

But no response came. He rose, anxious, and moved toward the door, opening it to be shocked by the sight of Olivia leaning against it, her face pale, her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes glistening with tears, fighting for breath. His eyes widened in disbelief before he rushed to her.

“Olivia!”

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