No Longer Your Rose Chapter 06
The next day, I was trending on a local social media feed.
The video showed a middle-aged woman kneeling on the ground outside my shop, sobbing hysterically. My shop’s sign was visible in the background.
[That’s the woman! She ran my little girl down five years back in a reckless crash! She’s out of prison and running a barbecue shop. Is there no justice?]
The comments were full of hate. People found my name, my home address, where I worked.
I’d barely opened the shop when the same woman burst in, grabbed my hair, and started pulling.
“How dare you walk free? Give my daughter back!”
My mind went completely numb.
Five years ago in prison, they had pulled my hair like this, pinned my hands to the floor, and crushed my fingers one by one. The shouting, the torture, the pain—
“It wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”
I stumbled backward, trembling violently, my hands clamped over my ears.
“Murderer! Shameless!”
“Out of prison and still think you’re above the law?”
“Kill her!”
I curled up against the wall, covering my head with my arms and screaming.
“Stay away from me! Leave me alone!”
Emma swung the broom and stood in front of me. “Back off, or I’m calling the cops!”
She turned around and pulled me into a tight hug, even as I struggled.
“Isabella, it’s Emma.”
She said it over and over, right next to my ear. “I believe you, Isabella. I know it wasn’t you.”
The shop owner next door pushed through the crowd, holding a kitchen cleaver. He slammed it down on a table. “Nobody touches her. I’m calling the cops. No one leaves.”
The crowd shrank back.
I leaned against Emma’s shoulder, still trembling, but slowly, I began to calm down.
I called the police. They came quickly and took the woman away.
By the time I finished giving my statement, it was dark. I closed up early and went home.
“Mom, I just wanted to live. But they wouldn’t let me!”
The next morning, I sat down at my computer and started searching—scrolling through post after post, comment after comment.
Finally, buried in the comments of a video with almost no views, I found a user ID. He claimed to have the full footage of the accident from that night.
I contacted him right away and bought the video. Sophia’s face was clearly visible.
Then, with all the savings I had left, I hired a private investigator to dig up every detail about Sophia.
That same day, Dario came with Valentina. She reached out her hand to me. “Come back home with me, honey.”
I stepped back, keeping my distance. “Ma’am, this is my home.”
I turned and pointed at the two framed portraits hanging side by side on the wall. “My mother is right there.”
Dario followed my gaze, his face going still. “They passed away?”
I looked at him with bitter amusement. “Yes. They died the second year I was in prison.”
“I sent messages to you and Theo from inside, begging you to help them. You both turned me down.”
Dario opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He remembered now—his assistant had mentioned something about Isabella’s adoptive parents. But that day was Sophia’s son’s birthday party. He was busy entertaining guests, so he’d just said “I’ll handle it later” and never gave it another thought.
He clenched his fists, still defensive. “Your sentence was only one year. Their misfortunes are not the Santoro family’s burden to bear.”
I laughed out loud. “You’re unbelievable, Dario. I only earned early release through perfect behavioral records. If not for that, I’d still be in prison.”
“That’s not possible…”
“Why would I lie to you?”
His face went pale, then flushed. His lips parted trembling, yet he couldn’t utter a single word. Valentina stood nearby, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she said nothing.
I stepped back and closed the door.
I leaned against it and shut my eyes.
Through the door, I heard Valentina ask quietly, “Dario, is every word Isabella said true?”
Dario’s voice was heavy. “We’re leaving.”