On Her Kneels
ARIANA’S POV
The gates groaned open slowly, the creak echoing through the quiet night like a warning I couldn’t quite decipher. My car pulled into the estate, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as headlights swept over the familiar driveway I had grown up seeing.
Behind me, the second SUV followed—my bodyguards silent and vigilant in their own vehicle. Their presence was protocol now, ever since the morning’s attack. But as I stepped out of the car, something deeper than security protocol stirred inside me.
This wasn’t just about protection anymore.
“Stay here,” I told them. “I’m home. There’s no need to follow me.”
They didn’t argue. They simply nodded, remaining by the vehicle as I turned toward the mansion.
But I didn’t go inside.
Instead, I followed the stone path that wound around the garden, beyond the hedges, to the quiet corner of the estate where the trees whispered secrets and the wind always seemed colder. My father’s grave.
The moonlight slanted through the trees, casting long shadows on the manicured grass. I could see her—my mother—before I even reached the clearing. She was sitting on the bench beside his grave, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap.
But something about her posture felt off.
She wasn’t praying.
She wasn’t grieving.
She was just...staring.
Like she was seeing ghosts.
I slowed my pace and called out, “Mom?”
She stiffened.
Slowly, her head turned. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see the raw redness around her eyes, the tear tracks carved down her cheeks.
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“What’s going on?” I asked softly. “You sounded—scared. You said something on the phone and then—”
She stood up on trembling feet, gripping the edge of the bench like her legs might give out beneath her. “I—” Her voice cracked, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth as another sob shook her shoulders.
“Mom?” I stepped closer, my heart thudding wildly. “Talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stepping back as I reached for her. “I didn’t want to get involved in this mess. I didn’t want this. I never wanted this.”
My brows furrowed. “Involved in what? Mom, what are you saying?”
She turned toward my father’s headstone, her shoulders hunched, and something in her broke. Tears began to fall freely now—ugly, painful sobs that ripped from her chest like she was finally losing a battle she’d been fighting alone.
“I love you, Ariana,” she cried. “God help me, I love you like you were mine.”
I froze.
Like you were mine?
“What?” I whispered. “Mom, what does that mean? What the hell is going on?”
She covered her mouth again, shaking her head as if trying to stop herself from speaking.
I took another step forward, grabbing her shoulders. “Talk to me! Please! I don’t understand!”
“I’m so sorry,” she wept. “Please forgive me—please.”
“For what?” I demanded. “What do you need me to forgive you for? You’re not making any sense!”
She looked up at me then, eyes swimming with guilt. Her lips trembled, and I could see the torment written across her face. Whatever she was holding in, it was tearing her apart.
She opened her mouth to speak—but no words came out.
Only a strangled sob.
Then, before I could stop her, she slowly sank down to her knees in front of me.
“Mom!” I cried, shocked. “What are you doing?”
She clutched the fabric of my coat like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. “I’m... I’m not—”
And then she stopped.
Just like that.
Cut off by the wind, or by fear, or by guilt—I didn’t know.
But the words didn’t come.
And I was left standing in the moonlit graveyard, staring down at the woman I thought I knew… with my entire world about to shatter beneath me.
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