<b>Chapter </b>111


    <b><i>Grd’s </i></b><b><i>POV</i></b><b><i>: </i></b>


    31%


    I stared at myself for over ten minutes. Pinching myself, pping myself, I even pulled my hair. I was brought back, back to the moment that changed my already crap life to an even crappier life. I had just turned 20 and my father was about to announce it was time for my sister Olivia and I to pick a suiter.


    In my past life, I’d chosen Jonathan Brooks. The Rochester family and Brooks family were long time friends and business partners. Isaac Brooks, the patriarch of the family, insisted I marry Jonathan because I was the Rochester’s “biological” daughter. He liked Olivia, but he preferred for the Brooks to maintain a clean bloodline. To please my father, I epted this request even though prior, I had been approach by the Christiansen family with a marital proposal.


    I spent five years in a loveless marriage that ultimately led to my death. I could still smell the mes that burned my body. That morning, my husband came storming into our vi angry about yet another episode of “what did you do to my precious Olivia!” I was in the kitchen cooking when he stormed in.


    <i>“</i><i>Grd</i><i>! </i><i>Just </i><i>what </i><i>the </i><i>hell </i><i>were </i><i>you </i><i>trying </i><i>to </i><i>do</i>! Kill <i>Olivia</i><i>!</i><i>” </i>


    I looked at my husband confused, how had I tried to kill Olivia? All I did was brought her some chicken soup, at her request and his force. Puzzled, I asked my husband what he<fnc38c> ??? ????? ???????s ??? ?????s??? ?? find?novel</fnc38c>


    meant.


    “<i>Don’t </i><i>y </i><i>stupid</i><i>! </i><i>You </i><i>know </i><i>Livie </i>is <i>allergic </i><i>to </i><itro</i><i>, </i><i>yet </i><i>you </i><i>chose </i>to <i>douse </i><i>it </i><i>in </i><i>her </i>


    <i>soup</i><i>!</i><i>” </i>


    What??????


    I’d known for years of the many “allergies” Olivia imed to have. I’d been punished enough throughout my adolescence for it to be burned into my brain. No way would I have puttro in her soup. I stared at my husband confused but also tried to defend myself.


    “<i>Jonathan</i><i>, </i><i>I </i><i>swear</i><i>, </i><i>I </i><i>didn’t </i><i>put-</i><i>” </i>


    <b><i>SLAP</i></b><b><i>! </i></b>


    <b>6 </b>


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    Jonathan pped me hard across the cheek. As tears welded into my eyes, I could feel my face burning. Suddenly, Olivia ran into the kitchen.


    <i>“</i>Jonnie<i>! </i><i>Please</i><i>! </i><i>Don’t </i><i>hurt </i><i>Grd</i><i>! </i><i>Maybe </i><i>it </i><i>was </i>an <i>ident</i>! <i>It’s </i><i>my </i><i>fault </i><i>anyway</i><i>! </i><i>I </i><i>shouldn’t </i><i>have </i><i>kept </i><i>you </i><i>with </i><i>me </i><ist </i><i>night </i><i>just </i><i>because </i><i>my </i><i>stomach </i><i>hurt</i>. <i>It </i>was <i>your wedding </i><i>anniversary </i><i>after </i>all.”


    As if on cue, the infamous Olivia tears began to pour. I could see Jonathan’s face twist into a heartfelt expression<b>. </b>Hugging Olivia, he began tofort her.


    <i>“</i><i>No </i><i>Livie</i>! It’s <i>not </i><i>your </i><i>fault</i>! <i>You </i><i>didn’t </i><i>feel </i><i>well</i><i>, </i><i>besides </i><i>it </i><i>was </i><i>just </i><i>another </i><i>stupid </i><i>day</i>! <i>Your </i><i>health </i><i>was </i><i>more </i><i>important</i><i>!</i><i>” </i>


    <i>‘</i><i>Just </i><i>another </i><i>stupid day</i><i>?</i>‘ <i>It </i><i>was </i><i>only </i><i>our </i><i>fifth </i><i>wedding </i><i>anniversary</i><i>, </i><i>why would </i><i>THAT </i><i>be </i><i>important</i>. <i>But </i><i>I </i><i>was </i><i>used </i><i>to </i><i>this</i>. <i>Anniversaries</i>, <i>birthdays</i><i>, </i><i>holidays</i><i>, </i><i>etc.</i>, <i>something </i><i>would </i><i>always </i><i>happen </i>to <i>Olivia </i><i>that </i><i>draw </i><i>any </i><i>attention </i>off <i>me </i><i>and </i><i>on </i><i>to </i><i>her</i>. <i>I </i><i>was </i><i>used </i>to <i>it </i><i>by </i><i>now</i><i>. </i><i>Olivia </i><i>was </i><i>their </i><i>golden </i><i>child</i><i>. </i>


    The day I was born, I had been kidnapped by a woman that had just loss her child and was told she would never have anymore. To help my biological mother cope with her grief, she and my biological father immediately adopted another girl. Olivia.


    Life with my adoptive mother was peaceful. We lived in a small vige near South Bay called Willington. My adoptive mother was warm, loving, and supported everything I wanted to do including ying the violin. I had everything I needed in order to have a well–rounded happy childhood; and then one day…it all came to an end.


    My mother and I were on our way home from grocery shopping when a drunk driver ran into our car, killing my mother instantly as she tried to shield me. Iid in the hospital for over three weeks healing; it was the second time I’d ever been in the hospital as long. One day whileying in my hospital room, the doctors and a social worker came in with huge smiles on their faces.


    <i>“</i><i>Grd</i><i>! </i><i>We </i><i>have </i><i>fantastic </i><i>news</i>! <i>Your </i><i>real </i><i>family </i>has <i>been </i><i>found</i><i>!</i>‘


    Real family?


    What did that mean? I sat in my bed shocked as the social worker exined everything to<ol><li>me. That my mother was not my real mother but in fact a woman that stole me from the hospital and then fled to Willington. The truth only came out because my DNA was in the</li></ol>


    O


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    system from when I was kidnapped, hoping to find some rtives, they ended up finding my biological family.


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