Five Years Wasted Now They Beg Her Back novel Chapter 392

“Damien.”

Grace looked at the key in her hand, her voice so soft it was like a whisper in a dream.

“Take me to the old estate.”

“I want to see what Mom buried.”

“If I don’t go… I’ll never be able to let it go.”

The Hart family’s old estate.

The old tree stood alone in the corner of the yard, its trunk thick and its branches sprawling, casting a huge shadow in the night.

The rain was falling harder now.

Damien held a black umbrella over Grace’s head, a shovel in his other hand.

“Are you sure you want to dig?”

Damien looked at Grace, his brow furrowed. “This is heavy work. I can call the bodyguards.”

“No.”

Grace shook her head. “I have to do it myself.”

It was something her mother had left behind.

Damien said no more.

He pushed the umbrella handle into Grace’s hand, rolled up his sleeves, and started digging with the shovel.

About fifteen minutes later.

Thud.

The shovel hit something hard, making a dull sound.

Damien knelt and cleared away the surrounding dirt with his bare hands, pulling a rusted iron box from the bottom of the pit.

The box wasn't large and looked like it had been there for years. The lock on it was completely rusted shut.

“Give it to me.”

Grace threw the umbrella aside, not even caring that the rain was soaking her clothes, and practically lunged to snatch the box.

She took out the key and tried to insert it into the lock with a trembling hand.

Katherine Holt had already told her that Lilian was two months older than she was.

But even so, reading these words, Grace still felt a sharp pain in her heart.

Her hands were shaking so much she could barely hold the notebook. She flipped quickly through the pages.

Every page was her mother's desperate cry.

“August. He’s started giving me medicine. He says it’s to protect the pregnancy, but after I take it, I always feel drowsy and even hallucinate. I secretly saved a pill and had a doctor test it. It’s… it’s a high concentration of antipsychotic drugs.”

“October. I want to escape. But he’s locked me up. He tells everyone I have a mental illness, that I have severe depression. No one believes me… no one believes me…”

“Grace… my daughter. Mom might not live to see you grow up. If you ever read this letter, remember Mom’s words.”

When she turned to the final page, her breath hitched—the words were scratched onto the paper in a jagged, dark crimson, a desperate final message written in blood.

“If I die an unnatural death, it will be Alistair’s doing! He is poisoning my food. He wants me dead to make room for Sabrina!”

“Grace, run! Run as far away as you can! Never trust Alistair Hart!”

“If you are reading this, don’t ever look back! Don’t seek revenge! As long as you can live… Mom will be at peace…”