Chapter 9
568words
The sunlight, like melted honey, lazily spilled across the entire estate, the air filled with the mixed fragrance of lavender and roses.
I sat on a wicker chair on the terrace, with a heavy "Contract Law" book open before me. On the laptop screen, a gray-haired professor was explaining legal provisions in a rigorous tone. The progress bar of the online course moved slowly, but my heart was unprecedentedly calm.
Not far away, my mother Catherine wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, bending over to tend to her garden. She concentrated on trimming a bush of roses in full bloom, her posture serene and content, as if she was born to belong here, rather than in that gilded cage-like luxurious prison.
Every day here seems like a gentle compensation for the storm of the past.
In the study, mother is no longer that housewife who stares blankly at an empty wardrobe.
Using part of the assets awarded in the judgment and her business acumen that had been suppressed for half her life, she established an investment fund specifically supporting women entrepreneurs. The intelligence that once only provided background support for her husband's Business Empire is now finally being applied to the career she truly loves.
Occasionally, I would see her looking at stacks of business plans, her gaze sharp and focused - a light I had never seen before, one that didn't belong to "Mrs. Anderson," but to Catherine.
She would enthusiastically introduce me to projects she favored, with unmistakable pride in her voice.
"This founder, Ava, reminds me of myself when I was young," she pointed to a document, "except she understood the principle of living for herself much earlier than I did."
There was not the slightest hint of regret in her voice, only joy for the new beginning.
In the afternoon, I took out the necklace that Scarlett had returned from its velvet box and placed it in the jewelry box in the bottom drawer of my dressing table.
"Click."
The sound of the lid closing was soft yet decisive.
I would never wear it again, or even look at it again. Whether it was Scarlett's return of it, or the humiliation and glory it once carried, all of it was permanently sealed away with this simple action.
Everything from the past, whether beautiful or ugly, had truly passed.
At dusk, the brilliant sunset painted half the sky red.
My mother and I set up a table in the garden and enjoyed a simple dinner. There were no elaborate ceremonies, no guests pretending to get along, just the two of us.
We chatted casually like friends; I told her about an interesting case from law school, while she shared encouraging market data from a startup she had invested in.
The air was filled with the aroma of food and the sound of our cheerful laughter.
The last rays of sunset stretched our shadows long, as mother raised her wine glass, the clear liquid glowing amber in the light.
Her gaze was gentle yet resolute, looking at me, but also seeming to look at herself.
"To us," she said.
Smiling, I raised my own glass and clinked it gently against hers, producing a crisp sound.
"To us."
We were no longer someone's wife, nor someone's daughter. In the golden twilight of Provence, we were simply ourselves, possessing both our names and our futures.
