The Grave They Dug For Her

Ivy POV:

The Mercedes glided to a halt in front of The Grandeur Hotel & Suites, its gleaming facade a testament to understated luxury. My new family's hotel. The irony was a bitter taste on my tongue. Dexter got out, opened my door, and stood there, expectantly. I hadn't moved. He reached in, grabbing my arm again, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Come on, Ivy. Don't make a scene," he muttered, practically dragging me out of the car. My shopping bags were still scattered on the floor of the back seat, forgotten.

As he pulled me towards the entrance, I caught a glimpse of Donnell. My father. He was standing in the hotel lobby, talking to a distinguished-looking couple. Donnell looked thinner, his hair grayer, his shoulders more stooped. Life hadn't been kind to him, it seemed. But then, he hadn't been kind to me either.

Flashback

"You're grounded, Ivy!" Donnell's voice boomed through the house, making the glasses in the kitchen cabinet rattle. I was ten, caught talking on the phone past my bedtime. "No TV for a week! No going out! You need to learn discipline!"

Ainsley, five years later, at fifteen, had crashed Donnell's car while joyriding with friends. Totaled it. Donnell had simply sighed, shaken his head, and bought her a new, even more expensive one. "She's just going through a phase, Ivy. She needs understanding, not punishment."

End Flashback

Dexter nudged me forward. "There he is, Dad! I found her." His voice was laced with a forced cheerfulness.

Donnell turned, and his eyes, once so cold and dismissive, widened in shock as they landed on me. He took a tentative step forward, his gaze sweeping over me, as if trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the girl he had abandoned. Next to him, a woman I vaguely recognized as a distant aunt gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Daddy Donnell, look! Ivy's here!" Dexter announced, a little too loudly, as if trying to break the spell. "Just like I said she would be. Ainsley's still upstairs getting ready, but she'll be thrilled."

Ainsley. Always Ainsley. Even in my ghostly return, she was the first thought. I suppressed a bitter laugh. They "missed" me? They had forgotten me.

Donnell still hadn't said anything. He just stared, his mouth slightly agape.

"Good evening, Donnell," I said, my voice flat and distant, a polite stranger. "Now that I've fulfilled Dexter's… urgent summons, may I leave?"

Dexter squeezed my arm, a warning. Donnell blinked. He looked around, suddenly aware of the curious glances from other guests. A low murmur spread through the small crowd of family members.

"Is that... Ivy?"

"I heard she died five years ago."

"She looks exactly like her! Oh my word."

Then, the whispers turned acidic. "Still causing trouble, even after all these years." "Always the dramatic one." "Just like her mother. Never fitting in."

My distant aunt, the one beside Donnell, stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "Ivy Dillard! What in God's name are you doing here? Showing your face after all this time? Don't you have any respect for the family? For your poor mother, God rest her soul, who's probably turning in her grave because of your behavior!"

My mother. Her name, dragged into their petty drama, was the spark. I felt a familiar weariness wash over me. This was the Dillard way. Blame, shame, and judgment. Always.

I pulled my arm free from Dexter's grasp, my movements sharp and decisive. I turned to walk away, to end this charade.

"Ivy! Wait, sweetheart! Are you staying for dinner?" Donnell's voice was surprisingly soft, almost pleading.

Flashback

"Ivy, if you don't finish your vegetables, you'll go to bed hungry!" Donnell had threatened, when I was seven, pushing a plate of broccoli towards me. He never threatened Ainsley. Her plate was always piled high with her favorite foods, no questions asked.

End Flashback

Dexter hurried to my side, grabbing my arm again. "Ivy, please. Just listen to Dad. He misses you. We all do."

I looked at his hand on my arm, then at his pleading face. "Get your hand off me, Dexter," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

He hesitated, then, almost imperceptibly, his grip tightened. As if I didn't mean it. As if he still had control over me.

That was the last straw. I had endured enough. I shoved his hand away with a force that surprised even me. Before I could take another step, Aunt Carol, the one who had insulted my mother, lunged at me. Her hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around a handful of my hair, yanking my head back.

Pain exploded in my scalp. Then, a sharp, stinging blow across my cheek. Her palm connected with my face, a loud smack echoing through the stunned silence of the lobby.

My head snapped sideways. The taste of copper filled my mouth. I touched my lip, and my fingers came away stained with blood. The pain was real, immediate, and sickeningly familiar.

"You insolent girl!" Aunt Carol shrieked, her face contorted in fury. "How dare you speak to your family like that! After all we've done for you!"

Flashback

"Poor Ivy," Aunt Carol had cooed at my mother's funeral, a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. "Such a good girl. Always so quiet. We all loved her so much."

Just before that, I'd overheard her whispering to another aunt, "Good riddance, I say. That girl was nothing but trouble for Donnell. Always causing scenes. He's better off with Ainsley. At least she knows how to be grateful."

End Flashback

The hypocrisy made my stomach churn. I felt a wave of nausea so strong I thought I might be sick. This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Not ever again.

My eyes swept the room. Donnell stood there, frozen, his mouth open. Dexter looked shocked, but made no move to help me. The other relatives gaped, some with disapproval, others with a sickening sense of satisfaction. No one moved. No one intervened.

A primal rage, cold and clean, surged through me. My hand shot out, grabbing a half-full champagne bottle from a passing waiter's tray. With a swift, powerful motion, I smashed it against the polished marble floor at Aunt Carol' s feet. The glass exploded, scattering glittering shards, the pop of the cork a sharp punctuation mark.

Aunt Carol shrieked, jumping back. Everyone gasped. The noise cut through the stunned silence like a gunshot.

"Let me make myself clear," I said, my voice dangerously soft, each word precise and resonant in the sudden quiet. My blood trickled from my lip, but I ignored it. "My name is Ivy Richardson. The Ivy Dillard you knew is dead. And you," I pointed a trembling finger at Aunt Carol, "you just assaulted a woman who is no longer bound by your pathetic family's twisted rules."

"Donnell! Dexter! Are you going to let her speak to me like that? Look what she's done!" Aunt Carol wailed, pointing at the shattered glass. "Get her out of here! She doesn't belong here!"

Donnell finally unfroze. "Carol, stop! She's still family, after all!" He looked at me, a strange mix of fear and desperation in his eyes. "Ivy, please, you're causing a scene. Just try to be reasonable."

"Be reasonable?" Dexter echoed, stepping closer, his face pleading. "Ivy, please. Don't make things worse. Just come with us, sit down. We can talk about this. Don't hurt Dad, please."

My gaze was fixed on Donnell, on his weak, pitiful face. "You want to talk, Donnell? About what?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the air like a knife. "About how you abandoned me? How you let your family tear me apart? How you let your illegitimate daughter steal my life?"

Suddenly, a calm, commanding voice cut through the chaos, a voice I knew and loved. "What precisely is going on here?"

The assembled Dillards spun around, their faces a mixture of confusion and apprehension. Standing at the entrance to the lobby, impeccably dressed and radiating an aura of undeniable power, was Alaric Richardson. My adoptive father. Behind him, Arnulfo, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp and assessing. And next to them, Collin, holding Leo in his arms, his face a mask of furious concern.

Alaric's eyes swept over the scene, from the shattered glass to my bleeding lip, to the gaping faces of the Dillard family. His gaze finally settled on me, and in his eyes, I saw pure, unadulterated fury.

"Ivy," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "who did this to you?"