The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 195: [ Volume 1] Chaper 195-Happy birthday.

Chapter 195: [ Volume 1] Chaper 195-Happy birthday.

Esme bit her lip, a mix of confusion and disbelief etched across her face. "Who told you about my birthday?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt the weight of the question hang in the air, heavy and charged.

From what she understood, the world only recognized her earlier birthday—the one she had meticulously fabricated to shield herself from the truth.

Most often, she used the wedding date of Aron and Helga, a day filled with joy and new beginnings. It was a date she had intertwined with her own life—a tether to the present that helped her escape the haunting past.

Memories swirled in her mind, fragments of a life she wished to forget. After regaining her memories, Esme had refrained from revealing her true birthday to Aron and Helga, fearing their reaction to the darker truth that loomed behind it.

To her, celebrating that day meant confronting the tragedy that had shattered her world at the tender age of eight. The day her parents had left to buy her a cake—their last gesture of love and care—had become a twisted reminder of loss.

They had wanted to keep the celebration small, to cherish their family time over grand gestures. But little did they know that their plans would be cut short.

Esme could still remember the anticipation that had built in her heart, waiting for them to return, her young mind blissfully unaware of the horror that awaited her.

Midnight had come, and still, they hadn’t arrived. Instead of the sweet aroma of cake, the air was filled with the haunting sounds of sirens, the echoing wail of an ambulance, and the sterile clamor of officers and paramedics rushing through her door.

The vibrant decorations her parents had lovingly set up—balloons in shades of purple and white—now felt like a cruel joke, a stark contrast to the grim reality that unfolded before her.

The memory gripped her like a vice, flooding her senses. She could see the white sheets covering the still bodies of her parents, lying lifeless on the floor where laughter and joy should have been.

They had come home for her birthday, but what she found instead were their cold forms, their hands still tightly intertwined, as if refusing to let go even in death.

The police had struggled to separate them, their hands locked together in a final embrace, a testament to their love that transcended even the grim reaper’s call.

As the haunting memories flooded her consciousness, Esme’s body trembled. She was paralyzed by the vivid recollections—the scene replaying in her mind like an unending loop. Her heart raced, and the familiar panic set in, tightening around her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Jay’s voice broke the silence, casual and easy as he rubbed the back of his head. "What do you mean ’how do we know’? Of course, we couldn’t forget our wife’s birthday," he said with a smile, trying to sound lighthearted, like this was a moment to be cherished.

Esme turned around, her lips curving into a smile, but it was strained, hollow. She knew it wouldn’t reach her eyes, but they didn’t seem to notice. "Thanks," she replied, her voice quieter than she intended, yet steady enough to pass as calm. "I’m really surprised."

The Aron brothers exchanged smiles, clearly pleased with her reaction. In their minds, they had succeeded in making her happy. They had no idea the truth behind her mask, didn’t see the tiny tremor in her hands, the way she had to clench them into fists to keep from shaking. To them, her forced smile meant joy, and they basked in their achievement, unaware of the storm brewing inside her.

"Let’s go cut the cake, then," Jay said, his voice warm, his excitement obvious.

At the mention of the cake, Esme felt a wave of nausea roll over her. It hit her so suddenly that she nearly took a step back. The very thought of celebrating felt foreign, wrong. The idea of putting on a show, pretending to be joyful for the sake of others, sent her heart racing in panic.

Her smile faltered, and she bit her lip to steady herself. "No," she said quickly, her voice more controlled than she felt. "We can’t cut the cake before midnight." She paused, thinking fast. "It’s tradition to celebrate at midday, and my birthday is technically tomorrow. Let’s wait until then."

The brothers looked at one another, considering her words. They nodded, accepting her reasoning without question. To them, it made sense, just another quirky detail about her that they were willing to accept. Jay shrugged. "Sure, that works."

"I’ll go freshen up," Esme added, already turning away, eager to escape before the pressure building inside her became too much to contain.

"Alright, take your time," Jay called after her, his voice cheerful, oblivious.

Esme barely made it to the bathroom before the facade cracked. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she locked it, twisting the key with trembling hands. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the tightness in her chest unbearable. Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst.

Leaning against the cold bathroom sink, she gripped the edges with both hands, trying to steady herself. Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her, pale and frightened, eyes wide with the weight of memories she couldn’t escape. She knew this feeling all too well.

The curse of her photographic memory meant that nothing ever truly faded. For Esme, every painful moment, every heart-wrenching second was as clear as if it had just happened.

While others might romanticize having such an ability, only someone who lived with it could understand the torment it brought. There was no escape, no fading of grief over time, only the unrelenting replay of the worst moments of her life.

She closed her eyes, but it made no difference. The images were always there, waiting for her, always crystal clear. Her parents’ final smiles, the promise they had made that morning: We’ll be back soon.