The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 187

During the days she cared for him, incredibly complex emotions churned within Annelise.

The boy had inherited Hackett's eyes—those striking, deep-set eyes that naturally exuded a cool aloofness.

Once, she had loved those eyes with absolute, unreserved devotion.

And beneath the cold stare of those very same eyes in a freezing hospital room, she had lost her own child.

Every time she looked at Manuel, it was impossible not to see Hackett's ghost.

But Manuel was completely innocent.

He was just a three-year-old who needed someone to take care of him, teach him words, and pick him up when he tripped.

Annelise drew a definitive line in the sand.

She refused to project any of her lingering anger or grief over Hackett onto a blameless child.

She bought him new clothes and toys, and cooked his favorite comfort foods every day.

When he couldn't sleep, she read him stories.

She even took him upstairs to visit Yves Judd's architectural studio.

When Yves saw her standing in his doorway with a toddler, he simply raised an eyebrow, then dug out an untouched architectural Lego set from his chaotic workspace.

Neither of them offered or asked for an explanation about the boy.

They simply acted like old friends—one quietly sipping coffee nearby, while the other sat on the floor, patiently helping a child construct an imaginary city.

A week later, Clarissa returned.

It was snowing the day she came to pick him up.

She looked significantly better than when she left.

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