But the pain never stopped.
I barely slept. This new room wasn’t freedom—it was just a prettier cage.
Why stay here?
Nobody wanted me.
I stared at myself in the cracked, foggy mirror mounted on the wall. My reflection gave me a bitter grin.
Tomorrow would be Chelsea’s birthday.
I missed her so much.
Her laugh, her light, her innocence.
Who did this to you, Chelsea?
Who took you away?
That question haunted me endlessly—from the day she vanished, from the moment we saw that horrifying photo of her bloodied, lifeless body. No one had located it. No one admitted to sending it. But still, they pointed fingers at me.
How could anyone hurt such a pure, joyful soul?
I couldn’t breathe in that suffocating room a moment longer.
As I walked through the halls, whispers trailed after me like ghosts. Murderer. Monster.
I kept my eyes low, my vision warping until I collided with a table and a vase toppled. It crashed to the floor, scattering in jagged shards. I knelt quickly to clean it, my head spinning. My left eye gave me nothing but a hazy blur. I blinked, trying to focus—
"You!"
That voice froze the blood in my veins.
My father.
"How dare you show yourself!" he bellowed, advancing on me. "You murderer!"