The day Vivian Sinclair returned to Torval, the sky was blanketed with snow.
The snowflakes quietly covered the airport signs, and the cold wind blew in.
She stood by the window in the waiting hall, wearing a long black trench coat.
"Vivian, have you landed?"
"Can't get a cab?"
"It's okay, Mom asked someone to pick you up."
As soon as she hung up the phone, she stuffed her right hand into her coat pocket.
After five years away, stepping into this city again felt somewhat unfamiliar.
Ten minutes later, her phone rang again.
She struggled to pull the phone out of her pocket, the caller ID flashing the words "Uncle Curtis."
In the end, she answered the call and held the phone to her ear.
"I'm waiting for you at exit nine."
Curtis Prescott's voice came through the earpiece, so familiar that it made her heart tremble.
Vivian Sinclair suddenly felt a sting in her nose, her eyes heated up.
Dragging her suitcase, she quickly walked to gate eight, immediately spotting a man in a perfectly tailored suit standing by a Bentley, standing straight in the snow.
Tall and of a cold temperament, he stood out even among many people.
Wherever he was, Curtis Prescott was always impossible to overlook.
Vivian Sinclair pressed her dry lips together and called out, "Uncle Curtis."
Curtis took her luggage with one hand, his gaze lingering momentarily on her face: "Wearing so little?"
She instinctively tugged at her coat collar and replied with her head down, "Left in a hurry, didn't check the weather."
This return was due to her grandmother's passing; she had to rush back for the funeral.
The ticket was booked at midnight for a 4 a.m. flight, with barely two hours of sleep.
She had only packed a few clothes hastily, even forgetting to bring a thick coat.
"Get in the car."
He asked no more questions, turned and opened the passenger door for her.
She hesitated for a second but eventually bent down and got in.
The car interior was oppressively warm, with hot air continuously blowing from the vents.
Curtis Prescott maneuvered the steering wheel while glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
He said nothing, only speaking lightly while waiting at a red light: "There're hand warmers in the backseat box. Take them if you need."
"You're dressed so thinly, it'll be colder when you get out."
Vivian Sinclair's fingers curled slightly.
She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat.
She loosened her seatbelt and turned to reach for the box at the back.
With a "click," the lid popped open.
She reached to feel inside but couldn't quite reach, so she shifted her body slightly to the side.
Just as her fingertips touched something deep inside the box, she accidentally brushed against his shoulder with her head.
The black suit grazed her hair, lifting a few strands with static. A faint woody scent, cool and crisp, wafted past her nose, causing her breath to hitch.
"Still haven't got it?"
She quickly pulled her hand back, moved closer to the car door.
"Got it."
A "snap" and the lid was closed again as she swiftly withdrew her hand.
Curtis Prescott's gaze lingered briefly on her face.
Five years had passed, and this young girl indeed had changed.
As a child, she loved chasing after him, constantly calling him "brother," despite the family always correcting her, saying it was "uncle."
Back then, she was only seven or eight, while Curtis Prescott was just starting college.
There was a nine-year age difference, yet she insisted on calling him brother.
"Good that you got it."
Vivian Sinclair remained silent, just gazing out the window, watching as snowflakes swept past the car window.
All of Torval was cold and desolate, with heavy snow falling, covering the ground thickly.
The car moved slowly along the road, tires slipping, making it difficult to drive.
When they arrived at the funeral hall, Lynn Shaw was dressed in black, a white flower pinned to her chest, her eyes swollen as if she had cried for a long time.
Upon seeing Vivian Sinclair step out of the car, she immediately walked over, grasped her hand, stared for a few seconds, and softly said, "Why have you become so thin?"
"Mom..."
As soon as Vivian Sinclair spoke, her voice quivered, and her eyes turned red instantly.
Five years ago, when she left the Prescott family's old house with her suitcase, she swore coldly.
Never to return in this lifetime.
Back then, her heart was full of resentment.
But now, truly standing on familiar ground, seeing Lynn Shaw's still gentle face, it felt like there was something heavy pressing down on her heart.
"Sister-in-law."
At that moment, a male voice came.
Curtis Prescott got out from the driver's seat and respectfully addressed her.
Lynn Shaw turned to look at him, a hint of gratitude in her eyes.
"Thank you for your trouble, Curtis."
She paused, her tone filled with appreciation, "Vivian just got back. I couldn't spare anyone to pick her up. Luckily, you overheard my call and volunteered to help; otherwise, I'd have no idea how to arrange it."
Today marks the seventh day since the old lady's passing, also the formal burial day.
The weather was gloomy, with the wind howling and snow heavily falling.
The family's drivers were all dispatched to pick up important relatives, leaving no car or manpower for airport pickup.
She was anxiously at a loss when Curtis Prescott just happened to pass by and took the task without a word.
"It's too cold and windy outside, you should go in first."
Lynn Shaw looked around before whispering to Vivian Sinclair.
"Your brother and the others are inside waiting, afraid the grandmother won't rest easy, they've been watching over the funeral hall without leaving."
Vivian Sinclair nodded, her lips moved, but she didn't say anything.
Curtis Prescott responded and didn't linger, turning to walk towards the funeral hall.
After he walked away, Lynn Shaw pulled Vivian Sinclair's arm.
There was less wind and fewer people.
She then lowered her voice, speaking earnestly, "You haven't quit your job, have you?"
"Not yet."
Vivian Sinclair lowered her eyes.
She was a lawyer, having graduated from a top foreign law school a few years back.
With excellent grades and outstanding internship performance, she smoothly joined an internationally renowned law firm.
For two years, she worked tirelessly, enduring countless nights without sleep, finally establishing herself in that highly competitive environment.
"Didn't I tell you long ago?"
Lynn Shaw sighed, her brow slightly furrowed.
"Quit, come back home. Now that the grandmother is gone, no one in the Prescott family can control you. You return; Mom would also have peace of mind..."
Lynn Shaw was in a second marriage. In her youth, with a delicate face and gentle nature, she married into the highly coveted Prescott family.
But with no strong backing from her own family, she faced restrictions in all aspects upon entering.
Her two stepchildren were respectful but distant.
The mother-in-law treated her coldly, criticizing everything from what she wore to what she ate.
She could only endure, striving to please, carefully maintaining surface harmony.
Over the years, she lived in frustration and exhaustion.
The only thing that kept her going was her biological daughter, Vivian Sinclair.
She hoped her daughter would succeed, to fly far and wide.
But she also hoped she would return, come back to her side.
Now that the mother-in-law had passed, the family's atmosphere had finally loosened a bit.
The two stepchildren had also formed their own families and careers, no longer constantly watching her.