Return From Grave: Reclaiming My Betrayed Heart

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ed in the hollow chambers of my heart. I wasn't going b

care-it all cost money, money I didn't have much of left. My trust fund, the inheritance from my mother that was supposed to secure my future, was still locked away, inaccessible. And there was the other part,

awling Bradford estate, a mansion that once felt like a home, now a gilded cage of

a hand, a gesture of hesitant comfort, but I flinched back, a reflex born of years of emotional and physica

fixed somewhere over my shoulder. The air between us was thick

bag tighter. I preferred to carry my own burdens, physical or othe

f tension. Now, the silence stretched again as we walked through the grand foyer, p

oney, sharp as a razor. "

eeping staircase, a vision in a pastel dress, her smile too bright, too perfect. She hugged me, a quick, almost per

ipulated. But she was wrong. The girl she knew was gone, replaced by someone hollowed out, someone who had no fight left for trivial battles. My illness had taken so much, but

My gaze flickered to the engagement ring glittering on her left hand. It

ines. He nodded curtly at me, a distant acknowledgment. His coldness was a familiar weight, a constant in my turbulent l

ing for something. "Where's Mom's wedding dress?" I asked, my voice cutting through

e with a gentle pity, wrung her hands. "Oh, Miss Blake... the dres

lready knew. A cold dre

oice flat. "It looked beautiful on her. S

money, not for their affection, but for this. For Mom's dress. It wasn't just fabric; it was memories,

calm, the words tasting like ash. "To whom?" I already

d to hide. She held up her left hand, the diamond flashing. "To

ho had promised me forever. The boy whose hands had broken my leg, ending my dreams. The boy who had cho

d him, so clearly, standing up for me in elementary school, pushing away the bullies, his small

to her innocent-sounding stories, believing her manufactured tears. I remembered the day I caught them in the library, his arm around her, com

lake, she's so fragile. You always make a scene." His words had been a physical blow,

. You're all I have." He had gently, but firmly, pushed my hands

his grip like iron, his face inches from mine. "You're a sick, twisted bitch, Blake! You hurt her! You hurt Gabriela!" The kick, swift and brutal, to my knee. The sickening crack that echoed in my bones,

ng her. Wearing Mo

taken everything. My mother, my place in the family, my career, my sanity, my love. Now, even the las