At the start of the New Year, the Whitmore residence was lit up everywhere, the old mansion glowing with that loud, festive holiday vibe from top to bottom.

Rosalind Everett sat with a lantern frame in her hands, slowly putting it together piece by piece. Normally, this kind of thing would never fall to her. But she couldn’t see, and no one was really talking to her, so she could only use little tasks like this to kill time.

Good thing lanterns weren’t that hard to make. Even blind, she could still manage to finish them somehow.

More than a dozen were already piled on the floor, all made by her over the course of one afternoon. When Mrs. Ben came over and saw them, she was startled and hurried over. “Madam, that’s enough. Really, enough. You don’t need to keep making them.”

Rosalind gave a small, embarrassed smile. “Did I make too many? I didn’t know... If there are too many, I can take them apart again.”

“No need, Madam. Why don’t you go get some rest? The reunion dinner’s about to start.”

Only then did Rosalind stop. With Mrs. Ben guiding her, she went to wash her hands clean before asking softly, “Has Damien come back yet?”

“Not yet.” Even though she knew Rosalind couldn’t see, meeting those beautiful yet unfocused eyes still made Mrs. Ben’s heart tighten a little.

The truth was, Mr. Whitmore had come back.

Just briefly.

He’d shown his face, said hello, and left again in a rush, saying he had something to deal with, leaving his own wife here by herself.

What kind of urgent business was that? Urgent enough that he didn’t even have time to say one more word to his wife.

Rosalind nodded. There was no obvious disappointment on her face.

The Whitmore family had a lot of people. On New Year’s Eve, the whole house was noisy and lively, elders and younger generations all gathered together. But not a single one of them had any interest in bothering with Rosalind. One reason was simple: she was blind. The other was even simpler: not even Damien valued her, so why would anyone else bother showing her respect?

Still, there was one upside.

She was blind, so she didn’t have to see the cold looks.

But not seeing didn’t mean not knowing. Rosalind could clearly feel the distance, the indifference, the way everyone kept her out of the circle.

It would be fine once Damien got here.

Thinking that, she couldn’t help placing a hand lightly against her lower belly, a gentle smile appearing on her face.

“Could you take me upstairs to my room?”

Mrs. Ben nodded, then immediately remembered Rosalind couldn’t see. “Madam, just follow me.”

As they passed the living room, Rosalind heard the room buzzing with voices. It felt like everything paused for a split second because of her passing, but just as quickly, it all smoothed over again.

Amid the blur of voices, she could vaguely make out a few ugly whispers.

"Poor thing."

"She still doesn’t know, does she?"

"Well, what can you do? She’s blind."

Mrs. Ben stole a careful glance at Rosalind Everett’s face. Seeing no anger, no sign of irritation at all, her chest tightened even more.

She was just hired help. There was only so much she could say.

But compared with everyone else in this house, this young madam was the only one who ever treated the staff with real kindness, soft and respectful, never putting on airs.

There was a TV in the upstairs bedroom. After turning it on for her, Mrs. Ben quietly shut the door and left.

Rosalind sat on the bed. The television was playing some loud, cheerful holiday program, all laughter and family happiness. The fake calm she had been holding together all evening finally cracked. She bit her lip, lost and a little helpless, wondering why Damien Whitmore still hadn’t come.

Hadn’t he promised her that this year, he would have reunion dinner with her?

Truth be told, she hated spending New Year at the old Whitmore residence.

She knew it better than anyone: in the whole Whitmore family, aside from Damien Whitmore and Old Mr. Whitmore, not a single person actually liked her.

If Damien Whitmore wasn’t there, they treated her like she didn’t even exist.

Rosalind reached for her phone, called up the voice assistant, and had it dial Damien Whitmore’s number.

The line rang for a long time.

Then it disconnected on its own.

Did something happen?

The thought made Rosalind uneasy.

She switched to WeChat instead and, with the assistant helping her, sent him a message asking roughly when he would come over.

Since the "send" button still needed to be tapped by hand, her fingers hesitated for a moment, moving slowly and carefully. Still, in the end, the message went through without a problem.

Damien Whitmore’s phone gave a light buzz, signaling a new message.

He didn’t even need to unlock the screen to know who it was from.

Because Rosalind couldn’t see, the meaning of her messages was often a little off.

But she loved texting him.

So after all these years, from those broken, choppy lines that sometimes made no sense before or after, and from the weird symbols mixed into her sentences, Damien Whitmore had somehow learned to read what she really meant.

This time, though, the message was very simple.

Just one line:

"When are you coming over?"

Damien Whitmore stared at that message for a long, long time, like he was trying to burn a hole straight through the screen. Even then, he still didn’t reply.

Then a new message from Amelia Shelton popped up: "Damien, I feel awful. When are you coming?"

Right after that came a photo of her arm, covered in cuts, some shallow, some deep.

Damien’s pupils tightened hard. "Don’t do anything stupid."

Amelia Shelton: "You promised you’d spend New Year with me."

Amelia Shelton: "I can’t stop hurting myself."

Amelia Shelton: "I feel so bad."

At the same time, another message from Rosalind Everett jumped onto the screen: "Honey, I miss you so much."

This time the voice-to-text had gone wrong. "You" had turned into "ni."

Damien drew in a deep breath and forced down the irritation gathering between his brows.

Rosalind was at the Whitmore house. There were people there looking after her. Nothing would happen to her.

But Amelia Shelton without him…

No. That wouldn’t work.

...

Rosalind waited for ages, but no reply ever came.

She pressed her hands and feet against her cheeks, sitting there quietly, waiting for the next message to come in, hoping to catch the phone’s vibration before she even heard the notification sound.

But after a long while, there was still nothing. Not a single movement.

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. At last, she understood that Damien probably was not coming back tonight.

Soon, there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Ben’s voice came from outside. "Ma’am, it’s time to come downstairs for New Year’s Eve dinner."

Rosalind sat stiffly at the dining table, listening to the conversations around her, and sipped the soup in her bowl in tiny mouthfuls.

She didn’t dare drink too much.

Damien wasn’t here. If she finished it and no one helped ladle her another bowl, it would be unbearingly awkward.

Everyone at the table was smiling and chatting, warm and happy, and she was the only one who didn’t fit in, like some random outsider who’d walked into the wrong house.

Rosalind Everett forced down the sting in her nose and kept scooping at the soup. This time, when she lifted the spoon to her lips, there was nothing on it at all.

Her hand froze.

A snicker came from nearby, sharp and undisguised.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She knew she’d made a fool of herself again. In past years, when Old Mr. Whitmore was still in good health, he would always step in and smooth things over for her. But this year, his condition had gotten much worse. He had only shown his face briefly at the New Year’s Eve dinner before going back to his room to rest.

Luckily, the dishes were usually kept in the same places. Before the meal, Mrs. Ben had helped ladle out her soup, so it should’ve been right in front of her.

Rosalind bit down hard on her lip and, after a second of hesitation, decided to just wing it. She reached out slowly, feeling for the spoon.

Her fingers accidentally knocked into something. It hit the floor with a crisp clatter, and right away someone gave a disgusted huff.

Rosalind’s hand stopped in midair. She didn’t dare move.

She must have knocked something over.

The embarrassment wrapped around her like a huge invisible net, tightening until she could barely breathe. Just then, Mrs. Ben’s voice rang out, bright with relief and surprise.

“Young Master He’s back!”

“Big brother’s back?” one of the younger Whitmores blurted out, instantly excited.

Rosalind turned blankly toward the sound. Even though she couldn’t see, a flash of urgency showed on her face.

Then a pair of hands suddenly took the bowl from her fingers. They carried a sharp chill from the winter outside, so cold it made her shiver.

Damien Whitmore’s voice came over her head.

“How are you this clumsy? Don’t you know how to ask someone for help?”

The people beside them quickly made room. Damien took off his coat and handed it to Mrs. Ben, then pulled out a chair and sat down next to Rosalind.

Rosalind carefully reached out, feeling for his hand. “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight.”

Then she asked in a soft voice, almost like she was afraid of the answer, “Is it really cold outside?”