The neighbors in the village had looked at her differently ever since the rumor took root. Their eyes followed her like sharp stones, heavy with judgment. Whispers seemed to trail behind her every step. Shame and guilt churned inside Eva's heart, pressing down so hard it threatened to hollow her out.
But not everyone's gaze was cruel.
That afternoon, as she made her way from door to door, basket heavy with her weaving, she forced her voice into the air, "Excuse me, may I interest you in some veils or shawls? I can take commissions too— at a fair price."
Her tone lacked the brightness she once carried. The stress had stolen her appetite, and with it, her strength. She waited at each threshold, but shutters remained closed, doors unopened. With a sigh, Eva turned away, ready to retreat into the silence that had become her only companion.
Then, the creak of a door.
An elderly voice called out, warm and urgent, "Eva! Evangeline, my dear!"
Startled, Eva turned as a grandmotherly figure hurried down the worn steps of her cottage. Breathless but smiling, the old woman reached for her. Her hands, thin and lined with years, closed around Eva's palms with surprising firmness.The touch shocked Eva. No one had touched her kindly in weeks. She blinked, her lips parting, unable to stop the tremor in her voice.
"Madam Trevor...?"
Senior Mrs. Trevor sighed, her eyes soft as rain. "Oh, child," she murmured, as though those two words carried all the pity and understanding the world had denied Eva.
Behind them, voices still carried through the narrow lane—neighbors leaning on their doorframes, not bold enough to speak directly but never silent either.
"That's her, isn't it? The shameless one."
"Stole another woman's betrothed, they say. Imagine the nerve."
"Hmph. Always thought she was too proud for her station."
Eva's throat tightened. Each hushed comment cut deeper than a blade, but Mrs. Trevor's hand held hers steady. For the first time since the whispers began, she didn't feel like running away.
Her tears threatened to fall, especially as she knew how conservative Mrs. Trevor was—how firmly she clung to tradition—yet the woman believed her above all the rumors. That trust was something Eva had never imagined, and it touched her more than words could say.
"Come in, would you?" Mrs. Trevor asked. Eva nodded quickly and followed her inside.
The door shut, and the voices outside grew muffled, like bees droning against glass.
"I know the rumors must have taken a toll on you, Eva," the old woman said, guiding her into the kitchen. "I could not believe what I heard myself. How could people spread such heinous lies about you? First, that you'd stolen someone's fiancé—and then," she sighed heavily, "well, I won't repeat the rest. I've no wish to wound you further."
Eva pressed her lips tight, trying not to cry, but tears slipped free anyway. Heartbroken at the sight, Mrs. Trevor pulled her to sit in a worn wooden chair and reached across to gently wipe the tears with her wrinkled fingers.
The kindness broke her. The harder she tried to hold herself together, the more the warmth of that gesture melted her defenses until she could only weep.
"I didn't do it," she whispered. "I would never do it. I've always been honest..."
"I know, child. I know." Mrs. Trevor's voice was firm now, protective. "Those who trust whispers above your word don't deserve to know you."
Raising her voice suddenly, she called out, "Milo! Milo, where is that foolish grandson of mine? Come along now, brew us some tea!"
Eva shook her head quickly. "Please, don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine without—"
"Nonsense. Milo will be glad to see you."
As if on cue, a figure rushed in—a young man with brown curls and bright green eyes. At the sight of her, he nearly stumbled.
"Eva..." he breathed, his whole face alight, as though her presence had chased away the very shadows of the house.
"What kept you so long?" his grandmother scolded sharply.
"I—I was feeding the lambs! The little ones—"
"Tea! Now!"
"Yes, Grandmother!" Milo darted toward the kitchen, though his gaze lingered on Eva with undisguised delight until the very last moment.
Seeing that both Senior Mrs. Trevor and Milo had treated her so kindly, Eva could only smile in gratitude, though her lips trembled. "It was the Seraph," she whispered, as though confessing a sin. "Those girls... they saw how, during the party I worked at, Sir Adrian Iverson helped me. We only talked."
"Adrian Iverson," repeated Senior Mrs. Trevor, her brows knitting. "Still, I can't make sense of it. Seraphs are dangerous, fickle creatures, and their noble-born women..." She shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Why would they soil themselves with the effort of spreading such filth all the way here? They'd hardly lower their skirts in the dust of this village."
"Maybe," Milo said quietly, setting the tray of tea between them, "they ordered their maids—or paid off men eager for coin—to whisper it where it would spread fastest." He frowned, his jaw tight. "But proving such a thing? That'd be near impossible."
Mrs. Trevor huffed, scandalized. "How hateful. To betray your own neighbor for scraps of silver! Milo—mark me—you'll never stoop to such behavior."
"Never, Grandmother," Milo promised with a smile, though his eyes lingered on Eva. "And Eva..." His voice softened, gentle in a way that made her chest ache. "Trust me when I say many of us don't believe the rumors. We know you better than that."
The kindness undid her. Her lips pressed together, quivering as her eyes stung. "My father and mother..." She faltered, her voice breaking. "They were so angry."
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Trevor's hand found her back, rubbing circles of comfort. "Shall I speak with them?"
Eva shook her head quickly, panic flashing across her face. "No. Please. They'd only grow angrier if the matter left our house."
The elder sighed, her expression heavy with pity.
Eva lowered her gaze to the wooden floorboards, her voice faint. "They... they're always angry. Sometimes they don't speak to me for days, and I wait until it passes. But it's been a week this time. Longer than usual. I thought... maybe soon they'll forgive me."
Perhaps, she thought bitterly. But even as she said it, a quiet voice in her heart whispered the truth: she wasn't certain her parents would ever believe her. All she could do was pray their hatred might someday soften.
Mrs. Trevor squeezed her hand firmly. "Then listen, child. If ever you need help, come to us. You're not alone."
"Yes," Milo added quickly, almost tripping over his own eagerness. He leaned forward, green eyes alight with something too tender for her to notice. "If you're in need, tell me. I'll come running, Eva. Always."
She blinked at him, startled by his earnestness, but then smiled—soft, unaware, her gratitude shining through her sorrow. To Milo, it was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, piercing straight into his heart.
"Thank you, Milo," she said simply.
"A-Anytime," he muttered, his voice cracking with sincerity.
Eva rose after that, gathering her shawl and basket. Though her burdens weighed the same, she carried with her a sliver of warmth as she left the Trevors' house and returned to her work.
Senior Mrs. Trevor folded the new shawl she had bought from Eva, her old fingers smoothing the fabric as though it carried some secret tenderness. Milo, who had been half-distracted with the chores at hand, muttered under his breath, though not so quietly that his grandmother missed it.
"It seems true... Mr. and Mrs. Crestmont do favor Serena. Anyone can see it. But Eva—she's just as pretty. Prettier, maybe. And delicate too, in her own way."
Mrs. Trevor's hands stilled on the shawl, her eyes softening. "Ah, child. You're not wrong." She sighed, the weight of old knowledge heavy in her tone. "It isn't Eva's fault. When Mrs. Crestmont bore her, the birth was hard, near took her life. Some women... they can't forgive the child for the pain that brought them into the world. And so poor Eva has carried her mother's grudge since the very day she drew her first breath."
Milo clenched his jaw, his young face tight with quiet anger. "That isn't fair. She's done nothing to deserve it."
His grandmother gave him a pointed look, her voice gentling as she shook her head. "Life isn't always fair, boy. But listen well—be kind to her. Be steady. If you show her you see her worth, perhaps one day she'll see you not just as a neighbor... but as a man."
Milo's eyes brightened, a boyish flush coloring his cheeks as he turned back to his work. "Of course, Grandmother," he said quickly, his voice thick with excitement he tried to hide. "I will."
Mrs. Trevor only hummed, folding the last of the fabric with a knowing smile, as if she had already glimpsed the story that had yet to be written.
By the time it was late at night, Evangeline was once again treated with silence. She poured the mushroom soups over the wooden bowl, setting it to the slab on her right. For a moment seeing her parents laughing while discussing the party they attended only brought her a bitter stung in her heart.
How could they... pretended she doesn't exist?
It was as if she wasn't in the room with them, as if she was watching the scene of a happy family from afar. As though there was an invisible wall that she could never cross over, a wall she could never come close ever since she was young.
"Sister," Serena's voice startled her. Seeing her sister, Evangeline almost dropped the hot soup over her Serena but in that split of second, she recalled how her father would really kill her this time so she shielded Serena's pristine's arms with her own.
"Ah!" she cried, her eyes shutting in pain.
"Be careful!" Serena raised her voice and in panic, Eva looked at the living room first.
Fortunately her parents didn't notice it and so she hushed her voice, dipping her hand into the cold basin, "Don't surprise me when I'm cooking, Serena," she hushed, trying to endure the burn on her skin.
"Why are you scolding me?" Serena frowned, her feet hitting the floor. "I noticed papa and mama hasn't been talking to you so I'm here to talk with you instead, but you don't seem to appreciate it."
Though her hands were burnt, Serena didn't seem to notice she was in pain. After all, her younger sister would always pout whenever she scolded her so all Eva could do was purse her lips and let the pain disappear with the hurt in her heart.
"I do appreciate it, Serena. But it's dangerous, if something happens to you-"
"-Well you are going to shield me right? Papa will be mad if you don't. An older sister is always there to protect her younger sister, that's what papa always told us."
Evangeline frowned but knowing Serena could never understand her, she only turned away. She could hear then her sister muttering, "Besides no one have been talking to you for a long time so you must be lonely."
"Yes," she muttered, "But there are people who doesn't believe in rumors and hear my words first over others."
Though bitter, she didn't meant her words to jab her sister and she knew that something like this wouldn't be noticed by Serena.
Sure enough, her younger sister's wide eyes only stare at her, questioning, "What do you mean? Did someone talked to you today?"
"Madam Trevor and her grandson," she answered as she smiled, recalling how gentle they were towards her and how that had touched her so much that it felt like a warmth she wished her parents could have given. Though it was given by someone else she didn't expect, it still moved her.
But what she hadn't noticed was how Serena's eyes had darkened, an expression of annoyance and jealousy wrapped her gorgeous face, enough for it to turn green with envy.
"Her grandson, was it Milo Trevor?"