Painful Redemption | T. R.

Chapter Fourteen

Anastasia did not often receive letters from her family. It was very rare that her father took the initiative to write to her, to ask her how she was doing. Not that there wasn't good blood between them, but since her mother had passed away, things had changed. Drastically.

He was a very detached man by nature. He couldn't really express his feelings, he didn't know how to express affection in the right way. He never did. Not out of malice, but simply because he didn't know how. And Anastasia had never held it against him, frankly she believed that the little things were enough and that there was no need to pretend, to go any further. But, unfortunately, since there had only been two in the house, her thinking had changed.

Her father stopped living the moment his wife closed her eyes forever. Anastasia tried to justify him, to understand his pain, to put aside her own to look after him. But she needed a father. She was young and alone. Desperate in a world too big for a child. Yet she had never again received a caress, words of comfort. And the chain, as the days passed, was broken.

Anastasia spent her holidays at the Black Manor, the family that had raised her like a daughter from the beginning. They had welcomed her with open arms, and had always been there for her mother, for both of them. Until the very last moment. For which Anastasia would be forever grateful.

Not that she didn't want to be there for her father anymore, but it didn't make any sense. They didn't talk, they didn't eat lunch or dinner together. They didn't say hello, their gazes didn't even accidentally cross, even though they lived under the same roof. And Anastasia realised that no matter how young she was, she would have to fend for herself from then on.

But she was trying to justify it anyway. She thought that perhaps he was acting this way because he saw his wife in her, and automatically the pain was too much to bear. Yet Anastasia felt pain too, she too suffered. She too was missing an important person in her life, she too was aware of the fate she was facing. But what is the point of life if you do not live it to the full?

That morning, however, something happened. Anastasia had not slept a wink all night, despite feeling exhausted. Powerless. She was dead tired, but she hadn't been able to sleep. At dawn, she had left her room in sheer disarray in order to indulge in a hot shower and drag her feet to the rather empty Great Hall.

There was hardly anyone there, and she was grateful for that. She looked awful, and had little physical or mental strength to cope with noise, people. Anything at all. She had poured coffee into her cup and started to sip it calmly, her gaze turned outwards, where the sun was rising slowly, illuminating her pale face.

She had thought about going back to her room after breakfast, calling in sick and skipping the day of study. But she didn't think it was the right move to make. However, as she thought about it, something fell into her hands. She looked up just in time to catch out of the corner of her eye an owl hovering over her head, already heading out of the Great Hall.

Anastasia did not often receive letters, but that day was the exception. When she read her father's name on the envelope, her heart skipped a beat. Her hands began to shake, and she couldn't hide the fact that she was a little happy even from herself.

She didn't know what to expect, she didn't have high expectations. But the fact that he had taken the time to say a few words to her made her feel better. That he had chosen to speak. That he was thinking about her.
She opened the letter hastily, before picking up her cup and beginning to read. But as her eyes moved carefully over the words engraved on the paper, they were filled at the same time with tears that she tried to hold back. Disappointment replaced happiness the moment she realised that, unfortunately, the handwriting was not her father's.