Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Arthur masked his true intentions with a look of concern, softening his tone to sound comforting. “Harry, don’t worry. I’ll send someone to find Camila. She doesn’t have any money, so she can’t have gone far.”
Harry heard his father but remained silent. He didn’t even have the strength to respond.
Camila’s image filled his mind–her warmth, her sacrifices–all of it felt like sharp needles piercing his heart.
Regret consumed him. ‘Why didn’t I trust her more? Why didn’t I stand by her when she needed me most? If I’d treated her better after she got out of prison, would she have stayed instead of running away?‘
The thought of Camila spending five years in prison for no reason, her body broken and beyond repair, was suffocating. She’d never fully recover, and the weight of that realization crushed him.
Harry curled up on the sofa, clutching a pillow tightly to his chest. His face was buried deep in it, his shoulders trembling. Every so often, a muffled sob escaped, revealing the pain he could no longer contain.
As Belinda saw Harry in such visible pain, her heart ached deeply, but her frustration with Camila only grew. ‘Running away over something so minor? She’s just trying to make life unbearable for all of us,‘ Belinda thought.
Belinda regretted bringing Camila back eight years ago. ‘She’s caused nothing but trouble–bullying Agnes, creating chaos. Five years in prison hasn’t changed her. Has the warden gone easy on her, just because she’s a Jackson?
‘No wonder her attitude kept getting worse. How did I end up with such a rebellious, disappointing daughter?‘ Just thinking about it made Belinda’s head throb.
And now, even Harry’s stomach was acting up because of her. ‘If this ruins Harry’s health, I’ll never forgive her, Belinda vowed silently.
Despite the anger simmering inside her, Belinda gently patted Harry’s back and said softly, “Don’t worry. Your dad has already sent people to look for her. They’ll find Camila soon.
“I’ll have someone make you some oatmeal to soothe your stomach. Eat it and get some rest; your health is the priority.” After comforting Harry, Belinda took Arthur by the arm and left the room.
About half an hour later, a servant brought over a bowl of oatmeal and said softly, “Mr. Jackson, have some oatmeal to warm your stomach.”
Harry caught a familiar scent and mustered his last bit of strength to sit up. He took the bowl and sipped the oatmeal, but spat it out. “Why does it taste so different?” he muttered, frustrated.
The servant blinked in confusion. ‘Isn’t oatmeal supposed to taste like this? How different could it be?‘ she thought to herself.
Then Harry spoke again, his voice barely audible. “It’s not the same as what I used to have,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of longing.
The servant paused, glancing at the bowl of oatmeal before realization dawned on her. “Mr. Jackson, the oatmeal you to have was made by Hazel. She would simmer it for over two hours.
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“Hazel always said that good oatmeal needs to be cooked slowly over low heat, so the oats release their natural flavors. That’s what makes the oatmeal thick, smooth, and good for the stomach.
“Hazel said Ms. Jackson was the one who taught her how to make it.”
Camila grew up in an orphanage, a place where cooking oatmeal wasn’t something she was supposed to learn. But the director, a kind and thoughtful woman, came up with the idea of making oatmeal every day to keep the kids healthy.
The children at the orphanage didn’t have access to much nutritious food. Oatmeal was cheap and filling, though it took
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Chapter 84
some effort to prepare. When their stomachs were uken care of, the go klou un
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During her fifteen years at the orphanage, Camila rarely fell ill and never had stomach problems. Life was tough, but she stayed healthy
Her stomach issues only began after the returned to the Jackson familly. Year of emrat cating–gating Hacer was available, often missing meals, and dealing with food that was never quite right–slowly chapped away at her health
The winters during those three years with the Jacksons were especially brutal. 11 Hazel hadn’t noticed Camilla’s severe stomach pain and vomiting, and hadn’t prepared easy–to–digest foods, Camila might not have survived the pain.
Even then, she still worried about Harry’s stomach problems. She shared the orphanage director’s catmeal recipe with Hazel, hoping Hazel would make it for him when she couldn’t be there to take care of him herself.
After Camila was sent to prison, Hazel continued to make oatmeal for Harry wing the method Camila had taught her.
Hazel was getting older, and without Camila around to remind her, Harry barely got his oatmeal once every couple of weeks. Over time, his stomach issues flared up again.
“Then go make it! I want it exactly like before!” Harry snapped, his frustration spilling over.
The servant hesitated. “Mr. Jackson, it’s not that I don’t want to make it, but it takes over two hours and needs constant stirring to keep it from sticking. Honestly, I don’t even know Hazel’s exact method
‘Who would spend two hours just watching oatmeal cook? Hazel only did it because she sacrificed her own rest time. None of us were willing to go that far, especially without extra pay, the servant grumbled in her mind.
Harry felt a wave of bitterness. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the oatmeal. “Fine, then just bring me my stomach medicine,” he said, resigned.
The servant looked embarrassed. “Mr. Jackson, we don’t know where your medicine is or which one you usually take. Hazel always handled that.”
Harry’s stomach pain intensified with every word from the servant. It felt like a storm was raging inside him, each wave more intense than the last. He curled up on the sofa, clutching his stomach, his face contorted in agony.
The servant let out a soft sigh, picked up the oatmeal, and quietly left the room.
The room fell into a deathly silence once more. Harry remained curled up on the sofa, his eyes vacant and lost, as if staring into nothingness.
With no oatmeal to soothe his stomach and no medicine to ease the pain, he could only grit his teeth and endure the relentless waves of agony.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed, but by the time the pain in his stomach finally dulled, the sky outside had already turned dark.
Harry pushed himself up with effort and made his way downstairs. The entire villa was eerily quiet; Arthur and Belinda had gone to bed.
He slowly walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of warm water. The gentle warmth slid down his throat and settled in his stomach, bringing a brief moment of relief.
He stood there for a while, lost in thought, before heading toward the storage room instead of back to his bedroom.
The moment he opened the door, a damp, suffocating smell rushed out, mixed with the stale scent of forgotten memories. The unpleasant odor made Harry wrinkle his nose.
After taking a moment to adjust, he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on an old desk tucked
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Chapter 84
away in the corner.
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The desk, worn and shabby, seemed completely out of place in the Jackson family’s luxurious villa. It was hard to imagine where it had come from. The surface was piled high with books–all of them from Camila’s high school years.
Harry walked over to the desk, sat down, and casually flipped through the books. Each one was filled with Camila’s meticulous notes. Under the dim light, the notes blurred slightly, yet each stroke seemed to pierce Harry’s heart.
He could almost see her sitting there, diligently writing, her face illuminated by the same dim light. On the day she returned home from prison, she had mentioned that she had been the top student at Sancho High School.
She had once been full of hope, dreaming of a future where she could change her fate through knowledge. But all her hard work, all her dreams, had been cruelly erased by her imprisonment.
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AD
