The next morning, I awoke with puffy eyes and a heavy heart. The events of the previous night played over and over in my mind like a terrible nightmare. As I dressed for the day, I steeled myself for the confrontation I knew was coming.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was thick with tension. My mother sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Jane was beside her, patting her hand comfortingly. My father was nowhere to be seen.
"Good morning," I said softly, my voice hoarse from crying.
My mother looked up, her face etched with worry. "Oh, Bella. Come here, darling."
I went to her, allowing myself to be enveloped in her warm embrace. For a moment, I felt like a little girl again, safe in my mother's arms.
"Where's Father?" I asked as I
