All Chapters of THE GIRL NEXT DOOR ISN'T INNOCENT!: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

MISS SANDRA’S POVThat stupid girl of mine. I don’t even know why her father had to die and leave her for me. I didn’t ask him for a child. I didn’t beg for one. He left her like a curse I never wanted to carry. You may call me evil, and maybe I am…but I honestly don’t care anymore.You might wonder, if I didn’t love her father, then why did I marry him? Well, I didn’t choose him. It was an arranged marriage, forced down my throat like bitter medicine. I once had someone I truly loved, someone who made me believe in happiness, but my family was rich, and they wanted more riches.They chose him because his family matched our social class. But after we got married, his family’s fortune collapsed, and I was trapped in misery, with nothing but regrets and a daughter I never planned for.I was sitting in the living room that evening, sipping wine and replaying my life like a broken record. The taste was sour on my tongue, but it was all I had to dull my thoughts. Just then, my phone buzzed

CHAPTER 109Abigail’s POVI didn’t know what to do. One thing about my mother is that she knows exactly how to manipulate people, especially me. She knows the right words to use, the right memories to touch. She knows that whenever she calls my father’s name, or brings him up in a conversation, my heart melts instantly.She knows that if she says he would be disappointed in me, I’ll believe it without question.She’s always known that the relationship between my father and me was sacred. That I could sacrifice anything, absolutely anything, just to protect his memory. She’s using that against me now. She knows exactly what she’s doing and how to do it. It’s manipulation, pure and simple.And she doesn’t even hide it.Alex was still beside me, breathing heavily, his jaw tight, his hands clenched. He had been asking her questions, trying to get through to her, but she ignored him completely. She just turned her eyes back on me, sharp as a blade, and said those same haunting words again.

Alex’s POVThis is stupid. I couldn’t believe my own result. I kept staring at that paper like it was lying to my face. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t right. There had to be a problem, maybe an error, maybe something was mixed up. It couldn’t be about Abigail’s teaching because she helped me so much.She stayed up with me every night, explaining everything, going over questions again and again until I got them right. She believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.But now, looking at that red F staring back at me, it felt like the universe was mocking me. Maybe I was just a failure. Maybe my best wasn’t good enough.I left Miss Kendra’s office feeling empty. I didn’t even take the report card with me…i left it there. I didn’t want to see it again. Every step I took felt heavy. My chest was tight. The words “You failed” wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.When I got home, I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone. I thought maybe I could take a shower, clear my head, and then talk to Abi

Abigail’s POVI couldn’t believe any of it at first. Even as the guards pulled my mother away as their hands tightened on her wrists, her mouth still flapping insults and frantic promises—the room felt unreal, like a stage where actors were finishing a terrible, loud scene. My heart was still pounding hard enough that I could feel it in the back of my throat. For a long beat I only stood there, wrapped in Alex’s arms, his body a warm, steady wall against the cold that had just come through the house like a gust.She had pointed a gun at me. My mother had reached for a gun. The thought kept repeating like a broken record, and it made the air in my lungs go thin. How had we reached this? The person who had given me life, who had been the one to teach me how to tie my shoelaces and wipe tears away when I scraped my knees, had aimed metal at my chest. There was no ceremony in that knowledge; no turning back.Alex’s hand was pressed over the place where I could still feel the phantom squ

Abigail’s POVOne year laterToday marks exactly one year since Alex left the house. Since then, I’ve been working tirelessly on finishing my PhD degree, and it hasn’t been easy, not in the slightest. The nights were long, filled with endless research papers, late-night library sessions, and the constant ache of missing him. I’ve been talking to him online, of course, but gradually, the communication dwindled.There came a point when I couldn’t contact him anymore. His father refused to cooperate, and every request for Alex’s number was met with cold silence or outright refusal. I asked countless times, and every time, his father would shake his head, flat-faced, never budging.Despite the frustration and sadness, I didn’t give up. Hope clung to me like a second skin. I kept hoping he would come back one day, even though at night, I would sometimes eavesdrop near his father’s office, hearing hushed conversations with his mother, probably asking about Alex.Whenever I moved closer, his