Chapter 507:
Lucilla Avila rushed up to Rylie’s table and slammed her palms down with surprising force. An ordinary person might have jumped, but Rylie didn’t so much as blink; she simply regarded the woman in silence.
Leaning in with a wide, almost childlike grin, Lucilla exclaimed, “Sweetheart! I saw a bear! Such a big bear!”
Rylie set her cup down and asked softly, “What bear? How big?”
“So big!” Lucilla stretched her arms wide in an exaggerated arc. “Bigger than me! And it’s brown!”
A faint flicker passed through Rylie’s eyes. Before she could respond, the kitchen staff hurried up and seized one of Lucilla’s arms, tugging her back. “Alright, alright! There’s no bear here. Come on, let’s get you back. Don’t bother the customer.”
“She isn’t a customer. She’s my daughter.” Lucilla strained against their grip, her eyes suddenly brimming with longing. “She’s my daughter… she’s just grown up.”
“Stop with the nonsense!”
The staff moved to cover Lucilla’s mouth, but Rylie rose from her seat. “Dining alone can be a little dull,” she said evenly. “It’s fine if she keeps me company.”
“No, Rylie,” one of the kitchen staff interjected quickly. “Lucilla’s emotions can be… unpredictable. She suffers from mental illness.”
Rylie’s gaze shifted to Lucilla’s eyes, bright yet clouded with a fragile yearning, and something in that look held her still. “It’s fine. I’m a doctor. If anything happens, I can manage it, and I’ll take full responsibility. You can let her go.”
“Would you like to sit across from me?” Rylie asked again, her tone gentle as she gestured toward the empty chair opposite her. She pointed to the untouched croissants on the table. “These have chocolate filling. Do you like them?”
Lucilla’s eyes brightened instantly. “Yes, I do!” She turned eagerly to the staff holding her back, her voice full of pleading and excitement. “I want to eat with my daughter. I promise I’ll be good!”
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The kitchen staff exchanged uneasy glances. After a brief hesitation, they reluctantly let her go, though their wariness didn’t fade. “Rylie, if anything happens, please make sure to keep your distance from her,” one of them reminded, their tone both firm and concerned.
Rylie gave a small, reassuring nod, then reached for one of the croissants. She placed it carefully in front of Lucilla.
Seeing Lucilla sit properly, cradling the croissant with both hands and biting into it with obvious delight, the kitchen staff finally began to retreat. Even so, they cast wary glances over their shoulders, as if expecting trouble at any moment.
Rylie quietly reached for the water pitcher and poured a glass, sliding it toward Lucilla. “Why do you call me ‘Sweetheart,’ thinking that I’m your daughter?” she asked, her tone calm yet edged with curiosity.
Lucilla paused mid-bite, lifted her gaze, and blinked at her. Then, without a word, she mimed cradling a baby in her arms and pressed a kiss into the empty air. “My sweetheart,” she murmured softly, her voice warm and aching with tenderness.
Rylie studied Lucilla’s gestures, the faintest flicker passing through her eyes. “Do I remind you of your child? Did you lose a child?”
Lucilla offered no answer. She simply kept staring, her smile vacant yet oddly persistent, as though she were peering at a memory only she could see. Rylie regarded her for a moment longer. “Do you live here all the time?”
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