CHAPTER 85 WE ALL LOVE ARIEL.

The toy

.

.

I flung the diary halfway across my room, my chest heaving with pain and anger. I didn’t even know what to trust anymore. In my diary, my mother was the villain, and in her words, I deserved everything I get.

I glared at the letter on my bed. I hadn’t opened it—I had no courage to open it. Probably about how she adored Ariel—how only Ariel suffered. And for me, as usual, nothing. I deserve nothing.

Jessie entered the room with a tray of food in her hands. Her eyes fell on the book before shifting to me, reflecting concern. “I made breakfast for you to eat.” She dropped on the bed next to me.

Although my stomach yearned for food, my mouth protested. I stared at the food blankly; it looked good, but I still had no appetite.

“I’m not hungry,” I rubbed my heavy sleep-deprived eyes. Anytime I closed them, my mother’s words and the things in the diary haunted my mind.

Jessie sat beside me. “I know you are mourning, but you need strength to mourn.” Concern is thinning her voice