Chapter 8

The scent of lilies and the hushed whispers of mourners felt heavy, a suffocating blanket on my already burdened heart. My vision blurred, not just from the tears I was desperately trying to hold back, but also from the sheer exhaustion of the past few days. Dad was gone. Suddenly, my world felt fragile, like a paper boat tossed in a stormy sea.

Then, there was Jane, Ren's mom. She wasn't family, not by blood, but the warmth she radiated was a beacon in the cold despair. Her hand had been on my back the entire service, a gentle, grounding pressure. I'd never felt this sort of nurturing before, not even from my own mother, not before she was taken from me so unfairly and early. And now, here I was, trying to hold it together at my father's funeral and I was feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. As the final hymn ended and I looked at her, I had to choke back a sob. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I felt the tears I had been holding finally break free.

After what felt like an eternity, the guests began to disperse. I thanked them, my voice a trembling echo of what it used to be. But then came the sharp sting of my stepmother, Grace, and my stepsister, Belle. Their laughter, deliberately loud, grated on my raw nerves as they approached.

"Look at her, bawling like a baby," Belle sneered, her perfectly manicured nails glinting in the afternoon sun.

Grace's eyes, cold and calculating, met mine. "She's the curse of this family, you know. If she hadn't been born, her mother and your father would still be alive."

My breath hitched. A curse. Was that truly how people saw me? My hands clenched into fists, but I was too numb to even muster a response.

Jane, ever vigilant, stepped between us, her voice firm and calming. "Don't mind them, Ella. They're just being stupid."

Then, a man, a familiar face from my childhood, approached. Mr. Thompson, one of Dad's closest friends. He looked at me, his expression a mix of sympathy and something else, something that sent a flutter of unease through me.

"Ella, I… I don't know if this is the right time, but your father… he always wanted to see you married into a good family." He paused, hesitant. "I… I know this person. He is a doctor, good man, successful. I was thinking about... a blind date?"

A flicker of hope, however fragile, ignited within me. It was Dad's wish. A chance, finally, for something good. Maybe some stability. But before I could even form a response, my stepmother Grace's voice cut through the silence like a shard of ice.

"Doctor? Let's check that out. Not for Ella, though. For Belle." She pushed Belle forward, her hand practically shoving her into Mr. Thompson's face.

"But… but… it was his wish to marry his daughter off…" Mr. Thompson stammered, clearly taken aback. He looked at me, confusion clouding his eyes.

Grace's expression hardened. "No buts. Do you think Belle is not his daughter? She is not his actual daughter but he loved her so much. Besides Ella clearly wants to study. You can see that. So, arrange the blind date for Belle. Also," her voice dripped with venom as she turned to me, "Ella is a disgrace to this family. She already has a boyfriend, and that's why my husband died. Always up to no good."

My heart plummeted. How could she? How could she take something that Dad wanted to give me and twist it like this? My blood ran cold.

"Her boyfriend," Grace continued, her voice rising in pitch, "he's a murderer. He killed someone and went to jail. My husband," she said, emphasizing the word with a theatrical sob, "couldn't stand the thought of his daughter marrying a murderer. He died from the shock."

It was a lie. A cruel, vile lie. Yes, she had set up all the scenes. Yes, my so called boyfriend had been jailed for murder even though I don't know much about it. But Dad didn't know the truth. Dad had supported me all this time. He was my only happiness, my everything. The sheer audacity of my stepmother's lies made my head spin.

The injustice of it all, the blatant disregard for my father's memory, was a blow I couldn't absorb. She was twisting everything, weaponizing my pain to fuel her own twisted machinations. I could endure her ridicule, her cruelty, her constant belittling, but the calculated way she was trampling on my father's last wish… It was a wound that cut deeper than any other.

How could she be so callous? So cunning? So utterly devoid of empathy? I stared at her, my chest heaving with the silent scream trapped within. It wasn't just the betrayal. It was the crushing realization of how little I meant, how easily she could manipulate and control everything even with my Dad's last wish, which he was actually doing for me. And this, I knew, was going to be a battle I would have to fight alone.