nore

ss. My body screamed. Every inch felt like a battlefield. My head throbbed in time with my hea

tation. "Eleanore! Thank goodness you're awake!" my mother cried, rushing to my bedside. She grabbed my hand, her to

tured arm, another concussion. But you'll recover." My mother's voice was soft, almost sincere.

about me. They were concerned about the optics. Another accident, another scandal. Anothe

dent," my mother murmured, her voice laced with subtle blame. "She feels so guilty, even thou

distraught. She blames herself for not getting help fast enough

ey refused to acknowledge the truth. I remembered my father teaching me to ride a bike, my mother braiding my hair, Colbert readi

nd. "There, there, darling. Everythin

r. and Mrs. Spence? Josie just woke up. She

. "Josie? Oh, dear. We must go to her." My mother pulled her hand away from mi

ing me alone in the silent, sterile room. Again. The tears flow

olbert, and Addison crowded around her hospital bed, all looking concerned. Feeling much better now that my family is here.

low. No amount of pain, no amount of suffering, would ever make

ischarged myself. The hospital staff, exasperated, let me go

d. I walked straight to my parents' room. On their antique dresser, I placed the carefully worded letter: a formal declaration of

roses. Now, it was a symbol of their neglect. With a shovel, I systematically uprooted every single rose bush, every fl

p to the curb. Kayson Knight's family butler, a kind, elderly man, st

it, then blocked every single one of their numbers. As the car pulled away, I glanced back at the mansion