âMr. Tanner, with the rain pelting down like this, Regina will definitely catch a cold running out there by herself.â
Francisâs tone was stiff, âIf she gets sick, itâs her own doing. Did I send her out into the storm?â
Sensing his resolve weakening, Emma quickly added, âWhy not let me go with Miss Regina to look for it? That painting is like a cherished memory of better times for her. Sir, itâs no wonder sheâs so frantic.â
With a heavy sigh, Francis waved a dismissive hand, and Emma hurried out into the downpour.
It was a lapse on their part, the staff, that they hadnât noticed where the painting that had hung for over a decade had been discarded. They knew only that it had been taken down, but not where it had ended up. A real shame, indeed.
Worried to the core, Emma didnât hesitate for a second before dashing into the rain.
In the end, Regina found her prized painting in a small storage shed next door, amid a pile of household odds and ends.
There it was, the once immaculate frame now carelessly tossed on the ground, gathering dust. It was as if only Regina cherished the memories of her familyâs past.
Finally, the dam broke, and Regina began to sob.
âMom, I miss you so much.â
Regina returned to the Tanner Mansion, a shell of her former self. Throughout it all, only Emma stood by her, not a single other family member in sight.
Emma, her eyes brimming with pity, dried Reginaâs drenched hair.
âMiss Regina, what were you thinking? Youâve been out in the rain, and youâve always been frail. Youâre bound to be feverish by morning.â
Seeing Regina clutching the painting, her face a blend of tears and rain, not making at sound, completely shutting out the world, Emmaâs own tears began to fall.
âIf your mother were here, she wouldnât let you end up in such a state, would she?â
Indeed, if her mother were still alive, how could she let Regina be treated so poorly?
Her longing for her mother was palpable, yet in the vastness of the Tanner Mansion, there seemed to be no room for such sentiments.
Regina had no choice; her defiance in her fatherâs eyes was nothing but a nuisance. She disrupted the peace of their home.
With great care, she took the painting she had struggled so hard to find back to her room.
Perhaps only there could it hang without disdain.
But Regina didnât hang it up again. Instead, she hid it away in the deepest recesses of her closet.
Painted on it was a warm family portrait of her with her parents-a time of such happiness. She resented the man Francis had become, unworthy of the paintingâs past joys.
She couldnât bear to display it any longer.
Maybe Imogen was right; their family of three had become a thing of the past, and Regina was the only one lingering, unwilling to awaken.
Whether it was her mother, forever left behind, or her father, who had long since stepped away, it was clear: Regina shouldnât dwell on the past any longer.
Her jaw clenched, she glared at a spot on the wall, determined to make Imogen pay. her choices.
With fury coursing through her veins, Regina stormed towards Imogenâs room, Emma, trailing behind, tried to catch up and restrain her, âRegina, youâre not a child anymore, and you canât be this impulsive.
What if your father sees you and blames you again?â
âEmma, why am I his own flesh and blood, yet he treats me like this?â