<h4>Chapter 600: Never The Same Way</h4>


    "...I gave it to Cynthia when she was little. At first, I didn’t recognize it. Butter, I did. And that hiddenpartment... I swear I had no idea. But the fact that the phone was found in the same ce as the arsenide derivative... it could only mean she was involved."


    Nanny broke downpletely, covering her face with her hands. "I am so sorry."


    Nnenna frowned, her chest tightening. She crouched closer to the bars, her voice softer. "This is not really your fault. Yes, you should have spent more time with your children, but I won’t me you for caring for Carl. Maybe you could have done both, but as for how Cynthia turned out... that’s not all on you or your husband. People make their own choices. And you still have other children who need you."


    The cell was filled with the sound of quiet sobbing, the truth finallyid bare.


    "Lora doesn’t look like a psychopath from what I’ve seen," Nnenna said gently, her tone almost trying to soothe the sobbing woman. "Which means you did not totally fail. The housekeeper didn’t totally fail either. Cynthia... she needs help."


    Nnenna’s words trailed off as her eyes widened. A thought struck her like lightning.


    "Wait, did you say she has ess to Carl’s room?"


    "Yes, that’s how she could have gotten to the medicine box—" Nanny started, but Nnenna was already on her feet, bolting down the corridor.


    "Where are you going?" Nanny cried, standing up from the stone floor.


    But Nnenna didn’t answer. Her pulse thundered in her ears as her feet pounded against the ground. She reached Carl’s door, mmed her palm against the scanner, and the panel slid open.


    Her stomach dropped.


    Cynthia stood over Carl, a gleaming kitchen knife trembling in her grip.


    "Stop! Don’te closer!" Cynthia shrieked, her whole body taut with rage and fear.


    Nnenna froze in the doorway, her chest heaving. "Cynthia... what are you doing? Put the knife down." Her voice was calm, steady, though inside, her heart raced.


    "Shut up!" Cynthia snapped, her voice cracking. Her eyes were wild, her hands shaking but refusing to release the de. "You don’t get to tell me what to do. Looks like my mother filled you in, didn’t she? She betrayed me!"


    "She didn’t betray you," Nnenna said firmly, taking a careful step forward. "She did the right thing."


    "Right thing?" Cynthiaughed bitterly, a hollow sound. "A parent is supposed to help their child get whatever they want, achieve their dreams, always be there for them. But she—" her voice broke, then rose into a scream—"she’s always given almost all her attention to Carl! Barely any for the rest of us! At first, we were angry..."


    Her words hung in the air, thick with years of resentment, as the knife wavered dangerously close to Carl’s sleeping figure.


    "I hated her for it, both of them," Cynthia spat, her grip on the knife tightening, "but then she started telling me what she had in mind... and I realized she did it all for her children. For me."


    Her eyes flicked toward Nnenna, then back to Carl’s unconscious body. Her voice cracked as fury returned. "And yet when she saw he wouldn’t love me—" she jabbed the knife toward Carl—"she told me to give up. To move on with my life! Can you imagine? After all the years she fed me those dreams, she suddenly apologized for wasting my time and told me to just... move on. Find someone else. As if love is that easy."


    Her face twisted, trembling with rage. "It’s not that easy, is it?"


    "Cynthia..." Nnenna’s tone softened, pity washing into her gaze. "Love cannot be forced."


    For a moment, she saw herself reflected in Cynthia, the ache of loving someone who didn’t love you back. She remembered Somto.


    The confusion of those early years, the way her heart fluttered in his presence, the jealousy she couldn’t name when other girls drew near him. Andter, the quiet devastation when she realized those strange feelings were love.


    But she had never confessed. She had lived in a constant tension, waiting, hoping, imagining.


    Until he died.


    Now, all she had were ghosts of what could have been: Somto suddenly telling her he loved her; her confessing first and finding out the feeling was mutual; stolen moments of happiness they would never share.


    None of it hade true.


    None of it ever would.


    There was no medicine for regret.


    "Trust me, Cynthia," Nnenna finally said, her voice low but firm. "I know how you feel. Keeping those feelings buried inside, never knowing if the person you love feels the same. Living in that constant uncertainty, does he love me back or does he not? It eats you alive. In fact, you’ve endured it longer than I ever did. But that doesn’t mean you should kill him just to ease your pain."


    She stepped closer, careful not to startle her. "The truest kind of love... is letting them go free. Letting them be happy, even if it’s not with you."


    Cynthia’s eyes widened, her grip on the knife trembling. For a moment, the crazed light in her gaze dimmed.


    She stared at Nnenna like she couldn’t believe she could possibly understand. But then her expression hardened again, her face twisting with bitterness.


    "Don’t pretend to be innocent. You don’t understand anything," Cynthia spat. "All you need to do is tell him you love him, and your future with him is secure. That’s it."


    Nnenna blinked, her chest tightening. Tell him? Tell Somto? Her thoughts reeled. But Somto’s... gone.


    "What do you mean?" she asked, unable to hide the confusion in her voice.


    "I’ve loved him for years!" Cynthia screamed, her voice cracking as her rage boiled over. The air around her felt suffocating again, the knife shaking in her hand. "And yet, day after day, he never once looked at me the same way he looks at you!"


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