Page 120 of Ruined By Blood
I perch on the edge of her bed, my fingers tracing patterns on the silk duvet. Everything in this house feels tainted by Henry's presence, even though he's gone.
"What are we going to do now?" I ask the question that's been burning inside me since we reunited.
Mom looks up, meeting my gaze. "Whatever we want, sweetheart. For the first time in years, we have choices."
I take a deep breath. "I think we should sell this house."
The words hang between us. This mansion has been our prison, not our home. Every corner holds memories of pain and isolation.
Mom sets down the folder and reaches for my hand. Her touch is still tentative, as if she's relearning how to offer comfort.
"I was thinking the same thing," she says. "I never want to spend another night under this roof."
Relief floods through me. "Really?"
She nods, a small smile forming. "This place was never ours, Sienna. It was just another way Henry controlled us." She gestures to the papers. "With what's in these accounts, we can start fresh anywhere."
"Where would we go?" The possibilities seem overwhelming after years of confinement.
"I'm not sure yet." She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so achingly familiar it makes my throat tight. "Maybe somewhere near the ocean? You've never seen the beach."
I think of Enzo's promise to take me there someday. "I'd like that."
Mom squeezes my hand. "We'll sell everything. The house, the furnishings—all of it. Nothing here is worth keeping except what truly belongs to us."
"Just my photos and Grandma's jewelry box," I agree.
"And my few keepsakes." She looks around the room with determination in her eyes. "The rest can burn for all I care."
"We're really free, aren't we?" I whisper.
Mom pulls me into a gentle embrace. "Yes, my darling. And no one will ever cage us again."
I climb the grand staircase to my room—a space that never felt like mine. The walls are too perfect, too pristine, like a museum display rather than a teenager's bedroom. Opening the closet, I bypass the designer clothes Henry selected to showcase his "perfect daughter." Instead, I pull out a small box hidden behind shoe boxes.
Inside are the few treasures I managed to keep: photos of Mom and me from before, a dried flower from the garden Mom once tended, and a small notebook where I wrote poetry when I could sneak moments alone. These memories are all that matter from this place. My camera and some photos I've taken.
I grab a few books from the shelf. Classics that transported me away when reality became unbearable. As I tuck them into a bag, I notice the faded copy of Jane Eyre, its pages dog-eared from countless readings. The story of a woman finding her strength after suffering always gave me hope.
Downstairs, Mom waits in the foyer, her fingers nervously twisting the strap of her purse. Despiteeverything, she still moves with that innate grace that Henry could never beat out of her.
"I've been thinking," she says, her voice gaining confidence. "I should stay here until our new place is ready. Someone needs to oversee the sale and make sure Henry's associates don't try anything."
My heart sinks. "You're not coming with me?"
She takes my hands in hers. "It's just temporary, darling. A few weeks at most."
I nod slowly, understanding her need to reclaim some control.
"I'll come visit as much as I can," I promise. "But I need to do some things for myself too."
"Like what?" Her eyes are curious, no longer shadowed by fear.
"I want to get a phone—I've never had my own before. I want to walk down a street without being watched." My voice grows stronger with each word. "I want to feel the sun on my face without asking permission."
Mom's eyes fill with tears, but she smiles. "Yes. That's exactly what you should do."
"I need to learn how to be a person, Mom. A real one, not Henry's puppet."
