"Mom, we’re already at the door. You can’t back out now." Clarissa tightened her grip on Clementine’s wrist, sensing the older woman’s urge to run.

  "Clarissa, maybe another day? I suddenly don’t feel well."

  Clarissa almost laughed at the obvious excuse. "Oh really? Then it’s perfect, Mom. Grandpa’s a great doctor. He can check you out himself." She yanked Clementine forward with strength.

  "No, Clarissa, I—"

  Before Clementine could finish, a sharp, irritated voice rang out from inside. "Who the hell is making a scene at my door?! Didn’t I say I’m retired? If you people don’t leave, I swear I’ll—"

  The wooden door swung open with force, revealing an elderly man with a head full of silver hair. Despite his age, his posture was strong, his movements sharp.

  For a moment, the three of them stood frozen, their gazes locking. "You—"

  "Dad…" The word slipped from Clementine’s lips before she even realized it, and then, with a sudden thud, she dropped to her knees.

  The next second, Callum reached for the cane leaning against the wall and swung it down with force. "You still remember you have a father?!" The wooden stick struck Clementine’s shoulder with a sharp crack.

  She didn’t move. She took it. Another strike landed across her arm, her breath hitching at the pain.

  Clarissa’s heart clenched. Just as Callum raised the cane again, she rushed forward and shielded Clementine with her own body.

  "Grandpa, stop!" she pleaded. "Mom’s not well—she hasn’t recovered yet. You’ll hurt her!"

  It was then that Callum finally noticed the young woman standing between them.

  She was stunning—dark lashes framing striking eyes, full lips, a refined elegance in her every movement. She carried herself with quiet strength, her presence impossible to ignore.

  And yet…

  She didn’t look like Clementine. Except for the eyes.

  Callum hesitated, his grip on the cane loosening slightly. "You… who are you?"

  Before Clarissa could answer, Clementine spoke, her voice hoarse.

  "She’s my daughter. Your granddaughter."

  Callum’s expression shifted—briefly, just a flicker of something unreadable—before he turned cold again.

  Clarissa knelt beside Clementine, supporting her mother’s trembling frame. "Grandpa, no matter what mistakes Mom made, she’s still your daughter. And she’s sick—please, let her come inside and rest. If there’s punishment to be given, I’ll take it for her."

  "Clarissa, no!" Clementine’s eyes widened. "This is my burden to bear!"

  She lifted her gaze to her father. "Dad, I know I was wrong. I was young and reckless. I disgraced you, and maybe I don’t deserve to be your daughter anymore…" Her voice cracked. "But Clarissa is your granddaughter. You can’t disown her."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Mom!"

  "Enough!" Callum snapped, his voice sharp as steel. His expression was unreadable—anger, disappointment, something deeper beneath it all. "I told you the day you left—if you walked out that door, you were no longer my daughter."

  "Grandpa—"

  "Don’t call me that!" His voice was ice. "I have no granddaughter. Get out of here. Don’t disturb my peace." Without another word, he turned and walked inside, slamming the door behind him.

  Clarissa rushed to the door, pounding against the wood. "Grandpa! Please!"

  No response. She turned to Clementine, who stood silently, shoulders trembling. "Mom…"

  Clementine let out a soft, bitter laugh. "It’s useless, Clarissa. He’s always been this stubborn."

  Clementine turned to her, forcing a smile. "Go wait in the car, sweetheart. I’ll stay here and kneel until he forgives me."

  Clarissa’s chest tightened. "How could I let you kneel alone?"

  She dropped to her knees beside her mother, eyes burning with quiet determination. "I’ll kneel with you."

  The mother and daughter knelt in front of Callum’s door from morning till night.

  Villagers passed by, their curious gazes lingering on the striking young woman, the older, frail-looking woman beside her, and the sleek luxury car parked nearby. Most assumed they had come to seek treatment from the legendary doctor, so no one paid them much attention.

  As the hours dragged on, dark clouds rolled in, and a light drizzle began to fall. Before long, the rain turned heavier, drenching them in cold sheets of water.

  Clementine shivered and nudged Clarissa urgently. “Clarissa, it’s raining. Go wait in the car. I’ll stay here.”

  But Clarissa shook her head, her eyes filled with quiet determination. “Mom, I’m fine. If I leave now, how will Grandpa ever recognize me?”

  A flicker of emotion flashed through Clementine’s weary eyes.

  She knew her body well. What if she collapsed? What if she never woke up? What would happen to Clarissa then?

  Yes, the Lancasters had promised to leave Clarissa half of their estate. But wealth was fleeting, and human hearts were unpredictable. Blood always ran thicker than words on paper.

  No matter what it took, she had to secure someone reliable for Clarissa… Someone better than herself. The rain poured relentlessly, soaking their clothes, chilling them to the bone.

  An hour passed. Then another.

  Clarissa kept her head down, focusing on breathing through the ache in her knees. But beside her, Clementine was wavering, her body trembling violently. And then—

  "Mom!"

  Clementine’s body gave out, her eyes rolling back as she collapsed into the rainwater with a sickening plop. Clarissa’s heart leaped in panic. She rushed to her side, her hands frantically gripping her mother’s drenched clothes. "Mom! Mom, wake up!"

  Clementine’s lashes fluttered, her face deathly pale. She managed a weak whisper. “I’m fine, Clarissa…”

  She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.

  Clarissa grabbed her shoulders, her voice firm. "No. You're going to the car. You need rest."

  "No!" Clementine forced herself to sit upright. "I can hold on. You go back. I'll stay—"

  Their quiet struggle was interrupted by a loud creak. The door swung open.

  "You’re wailing at my doorstep like the dead coming back to haunt me. What kind of cursed luck is this?"

  Callum’s gruff voice carried through the rain. His sharp gaze landed on Clementine, but his tone only grew harsher. "I should never have had a daughter like you!"

  Then, with a glance at Clarissa, he barked, “Well? What are you waiting for? Help her in! Or do you enjoy making a damn spectacle?”

  Clarissa’s breath caught, but then a rush of relief flooded her. He wasn’t turning them away.

  Moving quickly, she wrapped an arm around her mother’s trembling frame and helped her inside.

  Inside, the air was warmer, carrying the faint scent of herbs and aged wood.

  Callum didn't waste time. He took Clementine’s wrist, his fingers pressing into her pulse. His brows knit together into a deep scowl. "What the hell did I teach you? You keep this up, and you’ll die before I do." He raised a hand as if to strike her again—

  Clementine flinched, instinctively curling inward. But the blow never came.

  Callum let out a sharp breath and dropped his hand, shaking his head in frustration. "Useless!"

  He turned on his heel, disappearing into another room. A moment later, he returned with a cup of water and thrust it toward them.

  Clarissa took it with both hands. "Thank you, Grandpa."

  "Hmph." Callum grunted, settling himself into a chair across from them. His piercing eyes studied her, scrutinizing every inch of her face.

  Clarissa straightened her spine, meeting his gaze without flinching. After a long silence, Callum finally spoke. "How old are you?"

  "Eighteen this year—"

  "I wasn’t asking you," he snapped, shooting a sharp glare at Clementine.