Chapter 4 4

POV of Mathilda

March 1, 2017

Today is the day I hate most in the world.

March 1, 2017 - the most terrible, sorrowful day of my life.

The coffin lowered into the ground feels like a nightmare I can't wake from. My mother is gone. The woman who always stood by me, who defended me when life and people became cruel, has left me forever. There's no longer anyone to shield me when my classmates mock my plain looks or my awkward ways.

Where do I pour all this pain now? Where do I send all these tears that won't stop falling?

My father has locked himself in his room since morning. He refused to come to the funeral, refused even to see her face one last time when the coffin was opened. His grief is something beyond words.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mathilda."

The voice came from behind me - warm and compassionate. Mrs. Rosa wrapped her arms around me tightly. The scent of her perfume mixed with the cold air of the cemetery, grounding me for just a moment.

I nodded weakly and wiped my swollen eyes, though the tears kept flowing without end.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rosa," was all I could whisper. My throat ached. I turned again to face my mother's grave. It felt unreal. My mother, my best friend, the only constant in my life... gone.

"Where is your father?" Mrs. Rosa asked softly.

"He didn't come," I said, my voice trembling. "He's still at home. I tried to persuade him - we all did - but he said he couldn't bear to see her buried. He's too broken."

Mrs. Rosa rested her head gently on my shoulder. I could feel her sadness radiating too. Maybe because she'd known us so long, our grief felt like hers.

"Life is strange, Mrs. Rosa," I murmured, my voice breaking. "I've always longed for affection, for someone to truly protect me, to make me feel safe. But now, she's gone. I was already a girl who didn't fit in - awkward, teased, unwanted. If it weren't for my mother, I wouldn't have survived. Does God really think I'm strong enough to face this cruel world alone?"

As if the sky heard my question, thunder rolled overhead. Dark clouds spread quickly, and raindrops began to fall - soft at first, then heavier, more insistent.

"Come, Mathilda," said Mrs. Rosa, gripping my arm. "We should go home. It's going to rain harder. Look at that wind, look at the sky."

I gently pulled my arm free and shook my head.

"You go ahead, Mrs. Rosa. I'll stay. I want to cry beneath the rain and be alone with her... just a little longer."

Before she could answer, a familiar voice shouted from behind us.

"Grandma!"

I turned. Fredric was running toward us, holding an umbrella.

Mrs. Rosa stepped back as her grandson reached her, his clothes already damp.

"Come on, Grandma! Let's go! Why are you still standing here?" Fredric's voice was sharp, irritated. I ignored them both and turned back to the grave, staring at the freshly piled earth.

For a moment, I thought they had left. But then I felt a sudden grip on my wrist.

"Let go!" I snapped instinctively, pulling my hand free. Anger burned in my chest - not because he touched me, but because he wouldn't let me grieve my own way. Couldn't they understand that I wanted to feel this pain - to *face* it, not escape it?

"You're so stubborn!" Fredric shouted. "It's raining - what more do you want? Standing here won't bring her back! You have to face reality!"

I turned to him, rain soaking both of us. He had given his umbrella to Mrs. Rosa, letting himself get drenched. His hair clung to his forehead, his shirt plastered to his chest - and yet, all I could feel was fury.

"Of course I'll face it, Fredric," I said, my voice shaking. "You don't have to tell me how to handle my own grief. But I want to be here. What's so wrong with that? Go home. Your grandmother's health is more important than forcing me to leave."

He scoffed. "Tch! Do you really think I'm watching over you because I care? Damn it! Grandma, let's go. There's no point trying to reason with this woman."

His words pierced deeper than I wanted to admit. He turned and walked away through the rain, his grandmother following reluctantly after him. Their figures disappeared into the mist.

And I stayed - sitting at the edge of the grave, letting the rain soak through my clothes, the thunder drown my sobs, and the earth beneath me grow dark and heavy with tears.

---

**May 4, 2017**

I ran across Mrs. Rosa's courtyard as fast as my legs could carry me.

Her call had come only fifteen minutes ago - my father had collapsed.

Since my mother's death, he had changed completely. Three months of silence. Three months of refusing food. He rarely spoke, barely slept, and avoided home as if every corner haunted him with her memory.

Truth be told, I was barely any better. My world had gone gray. Even my once-burning admiration for Fredric had faded to ash. Nothing mattered anymore.

But I tried to stay strong - for my father.

The housemaid met me at the gate, pale and anxious. "This way, Miss Mathilda. He's in the guest house."

I hurried to the small cottage at the back of Rosa's estate. When I stepped inside, the sight nearly stopped my heart.

"Dad..."

He was lying on the bed, his face ghostly white.

"Don't come closer."

I froze mid-step. His voice sounded foreign - cold, sharp.

"But Dad-"

"*Don't come closer!*" he barked again, his tone suddenly fierce.

I hesitated, my chest tightening. Mrs. Rosa appeared behind me and quickly pulled me into her arms.

"Come, child," she whispered, leading me outside. I was shaking, my mind spinning.

"What's wrong with him? Why won't he let me near?"

"Mathilda," she said softly, "your father is... deeply depressed. He's traumatized. The loss has broken him completely."

Tears welled in my eyes. "What should I do, Mrs. Rosa? He needs someone with him, someone to take care of him. But how? I don't even know how to help anymore."

"You must be patient," she said, rubbing my back gently. "Your mother's death was his greatest fear. Now he's lost her, and grief has clouded his reason. I'll talk to him slowly, give him time. For now, stay here. Rest."

Before I could answer, a familiar male voice echoed from the front of the courtyard.

"Grandma, where are you?"

Fredric.

I looked up and saw him walking toward us - tall, confident, immaculate as always - with a beautiful woman beside him. I recognized her instantly. Paula. The famous model.

My stomach twisted.

I lowered my gaze, not wanting to look at them.

"Oh, Fredric," said Mrs. Rosa, smiling faintly. "Perfect timing. I actually need a favor."

"What is it?" he asked casually, his hand resting on Paula's waist.

"I need you to take Mathilda home," she said firmly. "Help her pack her things and bring them here. She'll be staying for a while."

I turned to Mrs. Rosa, shaking my head. "No, it's fine, I can-"

Fredric interrupted sharply. "What?! I have plans! I'm taking Paula to lunch. We came here to invite you, Grandma. Why should I waste my time escorting her? She knows where she lives, doesn't she?"

His annoyance was palpable. Paula looked uncomfortable but didn't speak.

"Fredric," Mrs. Rosa said in a tone that could freeze stone, "I said take her home. Are you going to ignore my words now? Don't tell me my grandson has become too proud to help someone in need."

Her eyes darted to Paula, and the model flinched slightly. "Of course not, Mrs. Rosa," Paula stammered.

"Then go," said Rosa.

Fredric sighed heavily, muttered under his breath, and turned on his heel. "Fine. Let's go."

He didn't even look at me.

I turned to Mrs. Rosa, unsure what to say.

She smiled kindly. "Pack your clothes and essentials, dear. Come back soon. You'll feel safer here - and you'll still have to go to work, right?"

I nodded weakly, though my heart was a mess of confusion and sadness.

As I walked toward Fredric's car, I whispered to myself,

*Why does every road I take always lead back to him - even when I wish it didn't?*