The Day My Daughter Celebrated Chapter 11

Stella left.

This time, she didn't seek death.

She left me a letter and a bank card.

The letter said she was wrong, she didn't expect forgiveness, she just wanted me to live well.

She said she'd leave the city and wouldn't disturb me anymore.

The money on the card was all her social media earnings, password set to my birthday.

She said it was her compensation, eighteen years late.

I threw the letter and card in the trash.

I didn't need her compensation.

I just wanted to return to days without her, without "Joy Day."

The house finally became completely quiet.

David and my life seemed to return to normal.

We began planning the wedding.

Trying on dresses, booking the venue—everything proceeded as scheduled.

David was doubly kind to me, carefully protecting me.

But the kinder he was, the bigger the emptiness in my heart grew.

I often woke in the middle of the night, hearing echoes of that party's laughter and whistles.

And Stella's words: "Mom, were you enjoying yourself back then?"

I developed insomnia, losing hair in handfuls.

David took me to see a therapist.

The doctor said I had post-traumatic stress disorder that had been reactivated.

That day, leaving the clinic, David was silent in the car for a long time.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Monica, maybe... we should bring Stella back."

I turned sharply to look at him.

"I know you hate her, but she's also the only key to unlocking your pain."

"You two need to face each other and say everything. Otherwise, this will torture you for life."

I looked at him, tears falling.

"It's too late, David."

"Everything's too late."

Just when I thought my life would be consumed by endless self-torture.

A phone call dragged me into an even deeper abyss.

It was from the police station.

They said Mark Stevens had been released from prison.