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.