"Are you proud of yourself now?" Carla's voice echoed through the hallway, sharp and shaking with restrained fury.
Jonathan didn't answer right away. He stood near the kitchen counter, folding his arms tightly. His eyes burned with unresolved rage.
Carla didn't wait for him to speak.
"I asked you a question, Jonathan," she snapped, stepping fully into the kitchen. "Are you proud of how you treated her? Of what you called her?"
"She sent the pictures, Carla," he said, his voice low but laced with defensiveness. "I didn't make that up."
"She was coerced," Carla seethed. "Manipulated. Lied to. And instead of being her father, you lashed out like she was a criminal. You stood there and told our daughter she ruined herself. That she was—" her voice faltered, fury trembling into pain, "—a cheap little slut on WhatsApp."
Jonathan shrugged.
"I didn't know all of it at the time," he muttered, suddenly unsure.
Carla stepped closer, lowering her voice but making every word land like a blow. "And maybe if you'd stopped shouting for five seconds, you would have heard her. You would have seen it in her eyes. The fear. The shame. The cry for help. But no. You made her smaller than she already felt. You didn't just fail her, Jonathan. You destroyed her."
He looked away.
"Angela called me," Carla went on. "Concerning the new blackmail. She's been following up the threat, and she thinks it's Mira."
Jonathan's brows furrowed. "Mira? That friend of hers? The one that—"
"Yes, that Mira," Carla snapped. "The friend of your daughter you judged so easily while she was being led into a trap. That girl helped set her up, and didn't stop there, she blackmailed her too."
Jonathan let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… didn't know it had gone that far."
"Of course you didn't," Carla bit out. "You never gave her the chance to explain."
There was a knock on the front door.
Jonathan looked up.
Carla didn't move. "That'll be Angela."
Jonathan went to answer the door.
Angela stepped inside, her face tight with concern. She didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I'm here for Bella," she said simply, her eyes flitting from Jonathan to Carla.
"Bella's not home," Carla replied, her voice quieter now, worn from anger.
Angela blinked. "Not home? Where is she?"
"She left for school. About a week ago."
Angela frowned, confused. "School? What school?"
"Whitethorn Academy," Carla said.
Angela's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? Whitethorn? The boarding school in the—thr woods?"
Carla nodded once, wearily.
Angela set her purse down sharply on the table. "You sent her away without telling me?"
Carla bristled. "It wasn't like that. She got an admission offer. Out of nowhere. No prior application, no interviews, just a letter and a scholarship form attached."
Angela stared at her in disbelief. "And you didn't think to call me? Bella and I have been working together to figure out who's threatening her and now she's suddenly in a boarding school on the other side of town, and no one thought I should know?"
Carla pressed a hand to her forehead. "Angie, I was overwhelmed. She was falling apart. That message pushed her over the edge. The same night she got it, the letter arrived. It was like the universe opened a new door for her."
Angela's face was still taut. "Carla, I would've wanted to be there. To help her settle in. To keep an eye out for her. You know what kind of place Whitethorn is. It's not some cozy little retreat."
"They don't allow guardians beyond the gates, so you coming would have been a waste of time."
"That's crazy. So how did she manage to get in?" Angela asked again.
"I told her the same thing I'm telling you," Carla replied, her tone defensive now. "I think it was Uncle Eliot."
Angela blinked. "Eliot?"
"Yes. You know he still has connections. He called last week asking how Bella was doing, and I mentioned the school mess, what happened with the expulsion and the blackmail. He was furious. He didn't say anything immediately, but I think he pulled some strings to get her in."
Angela shook her head, the frustration in her eyes not entirely aimed at Carla. "So Bella gets expelled, loses every ounce of self-worth she had left, gets blackmailed with another photo she can't even remember taking and the solution is to just send her away to a place where no one knows what she's been through?"
"She needed a fresh start," Carla murmured. "She needed out of this house. Out of this town. Entirely."
Angela softened a little but didn't back down. "And she needed protection. Supervision. Trust. I could've been there for her from day one."
"I know," Carla said after a long pause. "But everything was moving so fast. She packed and left the same weekend. There was barely time to explain it to myself, let alone to anyone else."
Angela exhaled, frustration tangled with concern. "She called me last night, you know. Didn't say much, just asked if I'd found anything yet. She sounded… hollow. She didn't even mention she was in a new school already."
Carla's eyes filled with tears. "I tried my best, Angie. I swear I did. But between Jonathan washing his hands of her and me trying to hold the pieces together, I just… I didn't know what else to do. She needed a way out. So when that letter came, I took it as a sign."
Angela's lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, now that I do know she's at Whitethorn, I'll be keeping a very close eye. And keep in touch with her."
"Please do," Carla whispered. "She doesn't trust anyone else anymore. Not since Mira, Liam, and... him." Her eyes flicked toward Jonathan.
Angela glanced at him briefly, he was still silent, still rooted to the same spot like he hadn't quite processed anything they've been saying.
"She may be at Whitethorn now," Angela said, gathering her bag, "but trauma doesn't disappear with a change of address. And you," she looked at Jonathan, "owe her more than just silence."
Angela didn't let up. "You told her she was ruined. That no school would take her. That she was… branded. Do you know what that kind of language does to a teenage girl already being harassed by the world?"
Jonathan's eyes reddened. "I didn't know how else to respond. I was… angry."
"Angry at who?" Angela demanded. "At her? Or at yourself for not protecting her?"
"I'm so disappointed."