Crimson Roses, The Daughter's Vengeance

When my mother jumped from the third floor, I was standing behind the rose bushes in the garden.

My six-year-old fingers dug deep into the mud. I didnt cry.

My mothers blood stained the white dress she loved so much. It turned a deep, sickening crimson.

Fourteen years later, I stood by the window of that same bedroom. I watched my grandfather, Silas Sterling, collapse from a stroke.

My father, Arthur Sterling, knelt before me, trembling.

I leaned down and gently lifted his chin with my finger.

Dad, tell me, I whispered. Is Moms blood redder than these roses?

I remembered that white dress for fourteen years.

It was pure cotton with delicate pleats at the neckline. The cuffs had hidden buttons that my mother had sewn herself.

She stood on the windowsill of the third floor. The wind blew from the south, tossing her skirt into the air.

She looked like a pale flower blooming against a gray, suffocating sky.

At six years old, I didnt understand why she cried for so many days. I didnt understand why she stayed in the bathroom with the water running every time my grandfather left his study.

But I understood one thing. The man standing at the top of the stairs, my father, saw everything.

He saw my grandfather grab my mothers wrist and drag her into that study. He saw her look back at him.

That look was a silent plea for help.

But he turned his face away.

His phone rang. He pulled it from his suit pocket and headed toward the front door.

Hello? Yes, about the charity gala tonight My wife isn't feeling well. She won't be attending.

My mother opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She watched his retreating back.

She looked at the dark mahogany desk visible through the cracked door of the study. Then, she stood on her tiptoes.

Just like the way she taught me in ballet class, she leaned forward.

When the white dress hit the ground, there was no sound.

All I heard was our housekeeper, Martha, screaming. Then came the sound of a glass breaking.

Finally, I heard the heavy thuds of my grandfathers slippers as he ran down the hallway.

Blood spread out from beneath her body like a dark oil spill. It soaked her hair. It soaked the dress.

It soaked the soil of the Damask roses she loved so much.

I crouched in the dirt and didn't move an inch.

The day of the funeral, the Sterlings hosted a massive wake. Hundreds of people filled the estate.

Silas Sterling stood in the center of the hall in a crisp black suit. His hair was perfectly slicked back.

He bowed to every guest with practiced grace. If it weren't for the wreath that said Beloved Wife Lily, you wouldn't know it was a funeral.

It felt more like his annual corporate gala.

Mrs. Sterling was a fine woman, someone told my father.

She was, Arthur replied, dabbing at his eyes. There wasn't a single tear there. Such a tragedy.

That night, the family gathered for a private dinner.

Grandfather sat at the head of the table. Father sat to his right. I was tucked away at the very end.

Martha served one dish after another. Lobster thermidor, truffle risotto, prime ribDall things my mother never touched.

Arthur, you need to step up for this family now, Silas said, placing a piece of steak on my fathers plate.

I will, Father.

From now on, let Cynthia take care of Noras needs, Silas added. He glanced at the woman sitting next to my father.

Cynthia Vance.

That name stabbed into my six-year-old heart like a needle.

I knew her. She was my fathers secretary.

My mother had treated her like a sister. She told her everythingDabout my fathers coldness, my grandfathers stares, and the noises from the study at night.

Cynthia, youre the only one I can talk to in this house, my mother had once said. I heard it with my own ears.

And Cynthia had repeated every word to my father and grandfather.

Now, she was sitting in my mothers chair. She was even wearing my mothers clothes.

It was a pearl-white silk dress. The pearls at the neck were an heirloom from my grandmother.

Nora, you can call me Mom from now on, Cynthia said, smiling at me.

Her smile was soft and warm. She looked like a real mother.

Okay, Mom, I replied with a smile of my own.

As a six-year-old, I put down my fork. In that moment, I planted the first seed of my revenge.

My name is Nora Sterling.

In the Sterling family, names meant everything. My grandfather said my name represented the familys legacy.

He wanted me to remember the business, the reputation, and his precious face.

He didn't know that my mother had wanted to name me Nadia. Nadia meant hope. It meant waiting for someone to look back at you.

After she died, no one called me Nadia anymore.

It took me two years to make everyone believe I had forgotten her. I made them think Id forgotten the blood on that white dress.

When I was eight, my grandfather was practicing calligraphy in his study. I knocked on the door with a bowl of warm soup.

Grandpa, its raining. Does your knee hurt?

It does. Its an old ache.

Let me help. I put the bowl down and knelt at his feet.

I pressed my small hands against his knees. My pressure was perfect.

Martha had taught me. My mother had taught me. She used to do this for him every rainy day.

Silass expression softened.

Nora is growing up.

I want to learn more, I said, looking up with bright eyes. Teach me how to write like you, Grandpa.

Silass handwriting was the pride of the Hawthorne Estate. His scrolls hung everywhere.

They spoke of Kindness and Integrity. It was the ultimate irony.

He held my hand and taught me for the whole afternoon.

Your hand feels like your mothers, he said suddenly.

My pen slipped. I ruined the last stroke.

Mom was good, but Ill be better, I said, looking down. I carefully corrected the crooked line.

The room went silent for a long time.

Good girl.

When those words came out of his mouth, I didn't know if I had won or lost. I only knew one thing.

His grip on my wrist finally loosened.

When I was ten, my father and Cynthia got married.

The wedding was ten times more lavish than my mothers funeral. The estate was decked out in gold and red.

Cynthia wore a designer gown shimmering with gold threads. she clung to my fathers arm as they walked down the aisle.

I stood among the guests, watching this woman transform from Step-mom to Mrs. Sterling.

Congratulations, Mom, I said, raising my glass higher than anyone else during the toast.

Good girl, Cynthia whispered. She was wearing my mothers emerald ring.

It was a vivid green stone the size of a pigeon egg. My father had given it to my mother on their wedding day.

Thank you, Mom, I said without a hint of hesitation.

Everyone at the party praised me. They said the Sterling girl was so well-behaved and mature.

That night, I locked myself in my room. I cried in front of the mirror for an hour.

Then I washed my face and opened the window. I let the cold wind dry the redness in my eyes.

The next day, I asked my father for money.

I want to study medicine.

Why would a girl want to be a doctor? My father didn't even look up from his paperwork.

Grandpa is getting older. His heart and knees are failing. I want to take care of him, I said calmly. Besides, if you want me to help with the company later, I need to understand the science.

His pen stopped for a second.

How much?

Fifty thousand for the prep courses.

Go see the accountant.

As I turned to leave, I heard him pick up the phone.

Cynthia, whats for dinner? That salmon you made last time was excellent.

He had never told my mother her cooking was excellent.

No matter what she did, his only response was always, Its fine.

When I was twelve, I started my real work on Cynthia.

I didn't hit her. I didn't curse her. I didn't use poison.

Those methods were for amateurs. I used something much more effective: praise.

Mom, that dress is stunning. It makes your waist look so tiny.

Cynthia twirled in front of the mirror. You think so?

Definitely. But I heard the trend in Paris right now is the 'pencil-thin' look. You have such a great frame. If you lost a few more pounds, youd be a supermodel.

The next day, Cynthia skipped dinner.

Mom, your face is so photogenic. If your jawline were just a bit sharper, you'd look ten years younger.

The day after that, she skipped breakfast and dinner.

Within a month, Cynthia had lost ten pounds. Her collarbones poked out. Her wrists looked like twigs.

She spent more time in front of the mirror and less time smiling.

Mom, I read this book on bio-hacking. Theres a fasting method thats perfect for your body type

Im not fat! she suddenly shrieked, interrupting me.

Of course not! I just meant your body is different from how my moms used to be.

I said that last part on purpose.

Cynthias face turned pale. She didn't say a word and stormed into her bedroom.

Two months later, she started purging.

Six months later, my father pounded on my door in the middle of the night.

What have you been saying to her?! She only eats half an apple a day! Shes skin and bones!

I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes.

Dad, I was just telling her how beautiful she is. Dont you tell her that too?

My father froze.

He had said it. Just last week at dinner, he told her she looked different and refined.

It was a sincere compliment to a woman who was starving herself into a shadow.

When I was fourteen, I got into the top private academy in the city. That same year, I won a national biology competition.

When I brought the trophy home, my grandfather hosted a private dinner for just the two of us.

Nora, youve grown up, he said, watching me with a strange glint in his eyes.

Its because you taught me well, Grandpa. I poured him a drink.

The Sterlings need an heir. Your father isn't cut out for it, he muttered, his face flushed from the alcohol. But you are.

Grandpa, Im only fourteen.

Your mother was already learning to manage a household at your age. He stopped himself. I didn't mean it like that.

I know. I put the bottle down and dug my nails into my palm under the table. Ever since Mom left, I knew you were grooming me.

Silas stared at me for a long time.

Nora, do you resent me?

For what?

Your mothers death.

I lifted my glass and looked at the color of the wine. It was a deep amber, like the dried blood I remembered on the pavement.

Grandpa, Mom struggled with her mental health. She made her choice. You shouldn't overthink it.

I looked him straight in the eye and downed the drink.

A fourteen-year-old girl, drinking hard liquor without flinching.

Silass pupils contracted. In that moment, I saw fear in his eyes.

He wasn't afraid of me. He was afraid of the monster he had created.

At seventeen, I was accepted into a prestigious medical school.

The Sterling family donated a whole new laboratory wing to the university. At the opening ceremony, I was chosen to speak as the student representative.

I stood on the stage wearing a pearl-white silk dress. I had it tailored to be sharp and modern.

Teachers, students, and guests

I come from a family with a long history in the medical industry. My ancestors have all contributed to our healthcare system.

The audience applauded.

But today, I dont want to talk about legacy. I want to talk about choices.

The clapping stopped.

I didn't choose medicine to carry on a name. I chose it to learn how to identify wounds. Clean wounds, infected wounds, wounds caused by sharp blades, or blunt force trauma.

The room was deathly silent.

Every wound looks different on the outside. But at the root, there is always one cause: someone applied force where they shouldn't have.

The Dean frowned in the front row. Our donation was the only thing keeping him from pulling me off the stage.

I hope that when you put on your white coats, its not for the prestige. Its because you know that someone has to stand up and name the wounds of this world.

I bowed and walked off.

The applause lasted longer than for anyone else.

In the car on the way home, my father called me.

What the hell were you saying at that school?!

I said I wanted to study medicine.

Do you know there were city officials there?!

I didn't mention Mom, I said, pulling the phone away from my ear. Why are you so nervous, Dad?

He hung up on me.

My eighteenth birthday was the biggest event of the year.

According to the trust my grandfather set up, this was the day I officially received twelve percent of the Sterling Groups shares.

Lawyers, board members, and high-society guests were all present in the manors grand hall.

When the cake was rolled out, the host said, Make a wish, Miss Sterling.

I walked to the cake, but I didn't close my eyes.

I dont have a wish.

The room went quiet.

But I do have a few words.

I turned to face the crowd.

Eighteen years ago, my mother, Lily Sterling, married into this family. She was a prima ballerina with a career worth more than any of my fathers subsidiaries.

I looked down at my notes.

Six years later, she was gone. The cause of death on the record was a tragic fall due to her unstable mental state.

A chilling silence fell over the room.

The interesting thing is, I smiled, she had passed a full physical and psychological exam just a week before. There was no history of illness, no prescriptions, no warnings.

She just happened to jump from a window on a perfectly normal evening while wearing her favorite dress.

My fathers logs show he received a phone call ten minutes before she fell. He left the estate immediately. I wonder who made that call?

Thats enough! Arthur Sterling roared, his face turning a deep purple.

It was Cynthia Vance, I finished.

Cynthia dropped her wine glass. It shattered on the carpet.

Nora, youve youve lost your mind!

Im perfectly sane. I raised my glass to the cameras. Doesn't everyone want to know what really happened? I am officially requesting a formal reopening of the investigation into Lily Sterlings death.

Do you have any idea what youre doing?! My grandfathers voice boomed from behind me.

I turned around.

Grandpa, you said I just got twelve percent of the company. I pulled the documents from the folder and held them high. Ill trade all of it for one thing: the truth about my mother.

Silass face went from red to white, then to a sickly gray. He looked at me like I was a total stranger.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Twelve years.

The room was silent for ten seconds. Then, the reporters went wild. %%%