"Gianna, Steven doesn't love you anymore. Do you really think you can keep making trouble like before? Even if you don't care about yourself, you should think about your son."
Bella turned the knife toward me again.
Mom hesitated, her grip on my hand tightening. That was her way of telling me to be strong, so I squeezed her hand back with all my strength.
Then, as if shedding her gloom, Mom suddenly smiled—calm, almost serene.
"In that case, do as you please," she said.
Seeing Mom retreat, Bella's grin widened, her arrogance swelling. She tossed all my birthday gifts out, then split my cake in two with a vicious swipe.
But just then, the chandelier above groaned with a sharp creak.
Mom's eyes flicked upward instinctively. Too absorbed in smashing everything she could get her hands on, Bella didn't notice.
The next second, the chandelier snapped free and came crashing down, striking her squarely.
Blood splattered across the polished floor.
Mom quickly covered my eyes, but I still heard her voice, laced with a smile.
"Oops, Bella. I forgot to tell you—the chandelier is rusty. It could've fallen at any time."
Bella was carried out by an ambulance that night.