Perhaps because the memory was too painful and excruciating, Leonhart's breathing slowed, as he continued. "I always remember the scene of her leaving me. Suddenly, in front of me, she hugged another man's arm and told me that she was going to marry that person."
"That scene has always been a thorn in my heart. I felt betrayed, and I hated your mother overnight. But that's where my stupidity lies, I didn't realize that the man she was hugging was her cousin. I only found out when your mother died."
That one memory was so deep that Leonhart's heart felt as if it got eroded and tormented by it.
"How did you learn the news of her death?"
Right now, Leonard's mood is anything but calm, and as he asked in a deep voice, his eyes fixed on the tombstone.
For a story that had been hidden for decades, he vaguely had a three-dimensional sensory impression of his birth mother from his father's statement.
