As evening approached, Felicia left the Union Clinic. Today's events had firmly established the clinic's reputation, promising a natural increase in future consultations. Leaving the usual cases to her eight experienced physicians—they could always consult her for challenging ones—she felt a sense of accomplishment. The thought of buying a house, now that money was no longer a concern, briefly crossed her mind, but she dismissed it; she was alone, after all.
Reaching the ground floor, she spotted a car and a familiar figure leaning against her building's entrance: Sebastian. How had he found her? She started to go inside, but he spoke calmly, "I couldn't reach you. Your phone's been off."
"Oh, it's dead," she replied, showing him the blank screen. "What's wrong?"
"New Year's coming," he said, checking his watch. "Mom and Dad asked me to get you. Stop being so stubborn—come home for dinner."
Felicia found his plea ironic, considering Kayla's recent ordeal. On her birthday, Kayla had been falsely accused of murder, the evidence seemingly clear, and taken away in front of everyone. Myra had then slapped Felicia and ordered her to leave. Sebastian's request felt utterly ridiculous.
"Even if my last name is Fuller, I'm not part of the Fuller family," she declared, walking away without looking back. "Don't come looking for me again."
She walked into the fading light, her posture rigid and distant, leaving behind a trail of thorns. Sebastian frowned, remaining motionless for a moment before driving away. This year, the Fuller family faced a bleak holiday.
In past years, Kayla would have been cheerfully dressed, charmingly asking for gifts amidst the festive cheer. But this year, she was confined to the sanatorium. Myra had vehemently declared she was done with Kayla and wanted no further news.
Yet, a package arrived from the sanatorium the day before New Year's. After a long hesitation, Myra opened it to reveal a bright red scarf and a note: "Happy New Year, Mom. I made this scarf for you. Learning took me a long time, so it's poorly done. If you don't like it, you can just throw it away."
Myra stared at the uneven stitches, imagining Kayla's solitary struggle, her potential suffering. Tears streamed down her face; a sharp pain pierced her heart. She knew Kayla's plight stemmed from her own actions, but her emotions overwhelmed her resolve. Her heart softened repeatedly; her steadfastness faltered.
Taking a deep breath, Myra summoned two maids. "Gather some clothing and skincare products from Kayla's room," she instructed. "She likes to look pretty, so don't forget her skincare and face masks. Pack the dresses I bought for her, too. Oh, and the sanatorium must not have any decent snacks. Pack all her favorite treats. What else should I bring..."