Mom wanted to build the perfect family. That was her grand masterpiece. And to do that, she tried her hardest to win Ella's heart.
I understood. I really did. Back when we first moved into that house, I even supported Mom chasing that dream.
It should've been easy, I thought. Winning over a little girl? Mom could handle that without breaking a sweat.
Turns out I was wrong, Inspector.
The days we lived there were way harder than I expected. Especially after Father died, that girl became even more impossible to deal with. Ella, who used to just stay quiet, suddenly started pushing back. She didn't even bother hiding the sharp looks she threw at us anymore. At dinner, her manners went downhill. She'd eat like she was racing against time, like sitting with us for too long physically hurt her. Sometimes she'd even take her plate upstairs and eat alone in her room.
After things like that, Mom would lower her head and sigh. Then she'd continue dinner as if nothing happened, talking to me and Anastasia like usual. She looked strong. Steady. But I knew better. Behind that firm smile, she was holding back tears.
"Ella loves her late mother very much," Mom would always say. "So it's only natural if she's not ready to accept me as her stepmother."
I understood that too.
But how long was this supposed to last?
How long was Ella going to keep ignoring Mom's kindness?
Before Father passed away, I once asked him, "What was Ella's relationship with her real mother like?"
He answered, "Just like how much you love your mother." I remember his big hand patting my head. "Drizella, you love your mom very much, right? Ella loved her mother the same way."
He told me that when Ella was little, her mother used to read fairy tales to her. Stories like Snow White or Rapunzel. Every night before bed, Ella would ask for one more story. On Sundays, they'd walk around the park together, looking at flowers and fountains. According to Father, Ella looked just like her mother. The same thin lips. The same small nose. The same bright, round eyes. They both loved gardening. Neither of them could ride a bicycle. They disliked bitter chocolate. They were allergic to peanuts. Like fruit that never falls far from its tree.
A small part of me understood how Ella felt. Losing a mother like that. She must've been lonely. She must've wanted her real mother back.
I understood her sadness.
But that didn't mean I could let her treat Mom however she wanted.
Mom did nothing wrong. She was kind to Ella. I couldn't stand the thought of that stupid girl making Mom cry. No. Ella couldn't keep acting like that, Inspector. Maybe Mom wasn't her real mother, but she still deserved respect.
I remember one day Mom entered Ella's room without permission. She meant well. She just wanted to clean it. Sweep the floor, wipe the dust gathering on the windows. There was no bad intention at all. But when Ella came back and saw her room was cleaner, she got angry.
She stormed into the kitchen and shouted at Mom, her voice rough and sharp. "Don't ever go into my room!"
Again, I saw Mom holding back tears. She explained patiently, her shoulders and lips trembling, saying she only wanted to clean.
But that idiot Ella just kept glaring at her.
I swear, I still don't get it. What exactly did Mom do wrong? Nothing was missing from that room. The photos and belongings of her late mother looked even cleaner, shinier than before. Ella should've thanked her.
I can't forget that day, Inspector. But the argument about the room wasn't the worst part.
There was another incident that made me feel like I was about to explode.
That afternoon, when Mom came back from the market, she brought home a lot of shopping bags. Not just groceries for dinner, but something else. Something that made her smile wide the moment she stepped through the front door. In the living room, breathing out in relief, she placed all the paper bags on the table.
Some Victorian-style gowns. And three pairs of shoes.
I called out to Anastasia, who was upstairs. She came running down. "What is it? What happened?"
"Mom bought us dresses for the ball." I lifted one of the gowns and showed it to her.
She started jumping around in excitement. After breaking up with Prince, I didn't expect Anastasia to react like that. I found myself smiling too. I thought maybe she had finally stopped thinking about him. She should have. It was about time she let go of that self-absorbed pretty boy.
"And that dress…" I turned to Mom, my eyes pointing toward a bag that hadn't been fully opened yet. "…is that for Ella?"
With her own hands, Mom opened it and revealed a sky-blue gown that looked expensive. Her smile was radiant. "Ella will love this," she said.
I had my doubts, but I nodded. So did Anastasia.
Then Mom took out a pair of shoes. Not the kind I usually saw at the market. These looked far more luxurious, shining under the light. I couldn't stop staring when she placed them on the table.
A pair of glass slippers.
"This too… Ella will definitely like it." Mom nodded, convincing herself.
With hope shining in her eyes, she put the gown and the glass slippers back into the paper bag and hurried upstairs to Ella's room. A little worried, I quietly listened from the bottom of the stairs.
I heard a soft knock. Then Mom's gentle voice calling Ella's name. The door didn't open. I didn't hear it creak. There was another knock, louder this time. Still no answer.
Unbelievable, seriously, what's wrong with her?
My feet itched to march upstairs and yell at her. Luckily, before I did that, the door opened slightly.
"What? You're noisy." Her voice sounded cold. Empty.
I could imagine Mom's expression. Her lips probably trembling as she held back tears. Still, she handed the bag with the gown and glass slippers to Ella.
"I'm not wearing a dress like this!"
The wide smile Mom had shown us in the living room slowly faded in my mind.
"What kind of ridiculous shoes are these? They're so weird. There's no way I'm going to the ball wearing something like that!"
I heard a small argument. Mom tried to persuade her to at least try them on, but Ella refused. Then I heard the door slam shut.
That was it.
My temper finally blew.
I rushed up the stairs. From a distance, I saw Mom collapsed on the floor. The bag had been thrown aside. The gown and glass slippers she worked so hard to buy were scattered everywhere.
That damn idiot Ella.
I stood in front of her door and pounded on it until my hands turned red. I shouted her name with every ounce of anger in my chest.
I can never forgive Ella.
Not after that day.
Not after Mom came down with a high fever.
***