How Old Was Mary Flora Bell When She Was Convicted?

When the power meter in the house trips, Mom's foster daughter, Juniper Hawthorne, is trapped in the dark for five minutes. Even though I have claustrophobia, Mom locks me in an empty, pitch-black room. "You knew Juniper was terrified of the dark, yet you intentionally shut off the power just to frighten her! I'll teach you how to behave today!" I cry and beg her not to, but all I receive in return is a harsh slap. "Claustrophobia? That's just what happens when a kid grows up too spoiled." Late that night, I sense someone breaking into the house. The first thing I do is to call Mom, a renowned criminal psychologist, for help, only to be yelled at. "You're still really getting into this role just to fight Juniper for attention, aren't you? "Kidnappers, huh? Well, go ahead and die so you'll stop bothering me!" As she wishes, I'm brutally tortured and killed. My body is buried beneath Mom's favorite flowerbed. After I die, my soul is trapped in the body of a cat. All I can do is helplessly circle Mom until five days have passed. The police arrive with a mangled body and request her help in creating a portrait of the killer.

For five years, I let my husband’s mistress take whatever she wanted. My birthday. His time. His attention. The tenderness that used to belong to me. I even told myself I could survive watching my own son choose her over me, because a damaged family still had to be better than none at all. It wasn’t. This year, my husband took his mistress away for their birthday trip, and my son ran straight into her arms and called her Mom. That was the moment I finally understood something I should have learned five years ago: no matter how much of myself I gave to that family, I would never be the one they chose. So I filed for divorce. None of them believed I could really walk away. My husband thought I was bluffing. His mistress thought she had won. My son did not even look back. None of them believed I could really walk away. Then a call came from overseas: Matteo Bellandi’s wife was dead. This time, I left them with nothing but my ashes.

Bellatrix, which means female warrior in Latin, is a modern day warrior woman. Her story starts when she decides to escape years of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse from her stepfather and the men he sold her to. She endured this suffering to protect her younger brother, who depended on her since their mother was a sex worker battling addiction. At the age of eighteen, she made a plan to leave and successfully escaped her hometown. Bellatrix became known as the 'Runaway Prostitute.' She found her brother and her a safe place in a lovely small town, where they enjoyed two years of happiness and peace. Everything seemed perfect until she fell deeply in love with her best friend's brother, a billionaire businessman. What she hoped would be a fairytale romance turned into a nightmare, bringing more drama and pain into her life. After a misunderstanding, she fled without leaving a trace of her whereabouts but returned a year later with her daughter, feeling more independent and stronger than ever. However, she foolishly opened her heart again, allowing her first love to betray her. Running away had always seemed like the best option, but this time around, she had people who loved and supported her, encouraging her to face her challenges. During her healing journey, she meets someone who believes that they are soulmates. Could he help melt her frozen heart?

My grandfather, Tanner Kane, valued loyalty above all else. When his adopted daughter, Alanna Meyer, was sentenced to death for murder, he sent my mother, Florence Kane, to her death. All to preserve the bloodline of his late childhood friend. Alanna took my mother's name, married, and lived a privileged life free from hardship. Meanwhile, my mother died carrying a crime she never committed. My father, Graham Hart, and I changed our names and wandered from place to place. For years, I was mocked as a motherless child. Forty years later, after enduring humiliation and dedicating myself to my studies, I became a judge in Arbor Falls. Today, I am presiding over a controversial campus murder case in which the victim fell to her death from a building. There were no surveillance cameras. Only two girls were present, and each insists the other is the killer. One of them, Nova, comes from a poor family. Her parents are divorced, and she associates with local delinquents. She is known throughout the school as a feared bully. The other one, Scarlett, comes from a wealthy family. Her parents have a loving marriage, and she excels academically. Her grandmother is a beautiful and kind-hearted artist. Her great-grandfather spent his entire life doing charity work and was recognized as a nationally renowned philanthropist. Everyone believes she is a good girl who would never lie, so Nova the bully must be the killer. However, when I looked at the name listed under Scarlett's grandmother, I saw my mother's name: Florence Kane. Without a second thought, I turned to the person beside me and said, "Reject her request for acquittal."

A week before my parents' sixteenth wedding anniversary, my dad gave my mom a diamond necklace worth over two hundred thousand dollars. Instead, I immediately fastened it around the neck of my flamboyant classmate. Because in my previous life, three days after my mom put on that necklace, she became a completely different person. The way she looked at me turned cold and distant. She flew into rages over the smallest things, throwing objects and calling me a worthless burden. One day, I casually complained about her best friend, Vanessa Moore, and she slapped me hard across the face. Then, late one night, I passed my parents' bedroom on my way to the bathroom and overheard a conversation inside. That was when I learned the diamond necklace was cursed. It could swap my mother's soul with Vanessa's. I called the police immediately. Instead, they insisted I was mentally ill and forced me into a psychiatric hospital. I endured endless abuse and humiliation there before dying a miserable death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my dad gave my mom the necklace.

I had been married to my husband for 27 years, but the love between us had faded long ago. Even our children could see it, and they were the ones who tried to persuade me to get a divorce. "Mom, you and Dad are still young. You still have time to pursue your own life." "Yeah, Mom. You shouldn't force yourself to live like this anymore. We'd support you if you got divorced." With their encouragement, my husband and I finally ended our marriage. My daughter even helped introduce me to someone new. Not long after the divorce, I began a new relationship. But just as I was preparing to remarry, my ex-husband suddenly sued me. He accused me of cheating during our marriage. My own children appeared in court and testified against me. They confirmed his accusations. No matter how hard I tried to explain, no one believed me. In the end, I walked away from the divorce with nothing. My new boyfriend and I were dragged through the mud online. [You shameless old woman. One foot in the grave and you're still chasing another man!] [At your age, you’re still getting divorced? Hope you and your little side piece stay together.] A few self-righteous, extremist internet vigilantes broke into my home. They tied my boyfriend and me to a bed, poured gasoline over us, and set us on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my children first tried to convince me to get a divorce.