Chapter 144 Catherine

• It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
• Sensing my distress, Ana lays her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting, like that of my mom.
• “For the longest time, I thought Patrick would grow up to be just like his father,” she says when I turn to look at her. “Cruel and uncaring, incapable of any softer emotion. I thought that until I saw him with a kitten one day when he was twelve. It was a tiny creature, all fluffy white fur and big eyes, barely old enough to eat on its own. Something happened to its mother, and Patrick found the kitten outside and brought it in. When I saw him, he was trying to coax it to drink milk, and the expression on his face—” She blinks, her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It was so . . . so tender. He was so patient with the kitten, so gentle. And I knew then that his father hadn’t succeeded in breaking Patrick completely, that the boy could still feel.”