Chapter 7

The world had tilted on its axis. One moment, my father was there, his booming laugh echoing through the study, and the next, he was gone. "Mom..." I screamed, my voice raw with a pain I'd never known. "Mom...Belle..." I wailed again, calling out to my stepmother and stepsister, the only family I had left. They came rushing in, their faces a mask of concern, but when they saw me huddled next to my father, the life drained out of their eyes. "He's gone..." I choked, the tears finally breaking free, hot and heavy. How could this be real? Who would protect me now? I was so alone in this world, vulnerable to the whims of my stepmother and stepsister.

The funeral was a blur. Faces swam before me, murmuring condolences, but their words were like a distant hum. I was numb, unable to speak, the weight of my loss crushing me. My father's body, so still, so heartbreakingly absent of the life he'd possessed just days before, was on display. The thought that I was completely alone now slammed into me like a physical blow. I wept again, tears that felt like they would never stop.

I had to know. I had to be sure. The post-mortem report. I demanded it, desperation driving me. I needed to see, I needed to know that my heart was right, that it didn't have anything to do with the women, the vultures circling me now, especially my stepmother. The results came, confirming it - a massive heart attack. I crumpled under the weight of it - grieving for my father, relieved that my suspicions were unfounded, but then the world imploded once more.

My stepmother, Grace, snatched the report from my trembling hands, her eyes blazing with a theatrical fury. "Look at this!" she shrieked, her voice dripping with poisonous accusations. "She killed my husband! She killed her own father! She had an affair with a prisoner, and this pure man couldn't endure it! Oh, my god! Now, I don't have anyone else! Please punish this horrible girl! She killed her mother when she was young and now she killed her father!"

A wave of nausea washed over me. Everyone in the room stared, their whispers turning into a torrent of judging gossip. How could she do this? What about my pain, my loss? I knew Grace had been trying to set me up to make it seem that I was in a relationship with Ren, some sort of prisoner as she had stated, but the accusation seemed so ridiculous. What did she mean? I felt as if I was drowning in her venom.

But then, a voice cut through the chaos. "She is his child! Have you ever thought about her feelings? She lost her mother when she was young, and now her father. How could she endure this alone?"

I looked up, my vision blurred by tears, and saw a woman standing by the door. A stranger. Someone who saw me. For a fragile moment, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Someone cared.

"Don't defend her, Jane," Grace spat, her face contorted with rage. "Don't defend her just because she's your son's lover!"

Jane. It was Ren's mother. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Was this another one of Grace's twisted schemes? But when Jane walked towards me, her eyes filled with genuine remorse, I felt a shift within.

"My dear, I am so sorry," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "I apologize for my son's actions, and for the rumors he had allowed to spread. It wasn't right. I can see that you are grieving; please, allow me to help."

Her words, her tone, were so different from Grace's. I saw no malice, no manipulation, only a deep compassion that seeped into my broken heart. This wasn't a setup, I could feel it. And it was so different from Grace, who was now screaming from the corner of the room. I was tired of it all.

Jane led me away, her arm around my shoulders, her touch surprisingly comforting. I allowed myself to lean into her warmth. A strange sense of peace settled over me. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't entirely alone. Perhaps, in this darkness, a glimmer of kindness had found its way to me. It was a glimmer I desperately needed, a warmth that felt like a lifeline in the vast, cold ocean of my grief. And for the first time since my father's death, I felt a flicker of something that wasn't despair – a sliver of hope, perhaps, or just the quiet comfort of a hand that reached out in the darkness. But could she, could she possibly help me get out from this hell? Won't she leave after the the funeral? These thoughts strike right into my mind.