Then I am on her grandfather. Grabbing him by the shoulders I yank him away from her, pulling him clean off the ground. I’m not thinking. I am simply acting on pure rage. I throw him onto the bed and stand over him. It takes all of my strength not to strike him. My breathing is heavy with hatred. I want to hurt him so bad my hands clench and my fist rises up into the air of its own accord. I glare down at him with my fist raised, ready to strike if he even thinks of trying to provoke me.

Like any bully who comes up against someone stronger or bigger, he cowers on the bed with his forearms pulled up to protect his ugly face.

Part of me is urging the pervert to do something that will allow me to beat the shit out of him. Actually, I want to kill him with my bare hands. Of all the things in the world I hate people who hurt innocent, helpless children. I stand over him breathing hard, trying to control myself, until the corner of my eye catches movement in the doorway. I turn away.

Chelsea’s mother is standing there watching us. There is a strange expression on her face. When Chelsea staggers towards her, she backs away into the landing. I debate whether I should at least let rip one blow on her grandfather, or follow Chelsea.

I decide on the latter.

My rage is such, if I start on her grandfather, they will be burying two people today and locking up one. I give the coward one last dirty look and I follow Chelsea out of the room. I reach out and take her hand to try and calm her. It makes her stop moving. I wrap my arms protectively around her. I feel her shaking against me, but she doesn’t flinch.

This could be the moment where she lets her mother know what really happened to her as a child, and I want to make sure she feels safe in saying what she wants to say. Her mother needs to hear the truth. Face to face with her mother, Chelsea comes to a dead stop.

“You knew!” Chelsea spits suddenly. Her eyes are wide with anger and pain, and brimming with tears.

What? I’m shocked to the point of freezing in place, my muscles becoming rigid. This is certainly not what I expected to hear. And yet. It makes complete sense.

Her mother stares at Chelsea with a blank expression. Then she turns away and goes towards a closed door. I’m not sure where it leads, but Chelsea pulls away from me and runs after her. I follow close behind. Her mother has gone into what must be the master bedroom.

I hang near the door. If Chelsea needs me, I want to be here with her to do whatever it is that she needs me to do.

“How could you! You knew the truth the whole time. You killed James. You made everybody believe he was a pedophile when you knew he wasn’t. I told you he wasn’t hurting me, but you knew that, didn’t you? You allowed yourself to go to prison and let me end up here. You never told anybody about Granddad. Oh, my God, it’s so obvious now why you never told anybody about Granddad. You knew he would hurt me just like he must have hurt you. You let me stay here. You made me stay here. Every time Grandma brought me to visit you, you said the same thing. “Be a good girl for your grandparents. Stay with them until I come and get you. You wanted me to stay here. You wanted me to suffer,” Chelsea howls.

Even though she is sobbing uncontrollably, I can make out everything she is trying to say. I do feel like I am eavesdropping, but I promised her before the funeral I will be here for her no matter what. I won’t let her out of my sight; certainly not in this terrible house.

She is loud and hysterical, and downstairs the music and singing have stopped. There are people at the bottom of the stairs. I put a hand out to indicate that they should stay put. This time belongs to Chelsea. She has to get it out of her system.

“Is that really what you want to hear?” her mother retorts bitterly. “Yes! Yes, I knew he was not abusing, but … I needed to teach you a lesson. Because of you and your stubborn ways the only man who ever loved and gave a shit about me was murdered in the woods. Then I find James and you were trying to take him away from me as well. All those sly little girlish smiles. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? He wasn’t your dad, he didn’t need to sit with you, or buy you all those gifts. He was my man and you were taking him away from me.”

“You killed him because you were jealous of him and me?” Chelsea asks incredulously.

My heart breaks for Chelsea. She looks utterly devastated.

“Yes,” her mother cries defiantly. “James was mine. You were a whiny little brat who thought all you had to do was flutter your eyelashes and you could take James away from me. I gave so much to that man. I loved him, I loved him and he repaid me by lusting after you.”

Her mother is weeping now, but it still seems like a fake-ass performance to me. When she lifts her head, as I suspected, I don’t see any tears, but her face is contorted into a grimace of hate.

“How could you even think such a thing? He was not lusting after me. He felt sorry for me,” Chelsea says.

Her mother’s face twists with fury. “Sorry for you? Why would he have felt sorry for you? You had it easy. Everyone loved you. You had everything.” Her mother’s eyes narrow and a sly look comes into them. At that moment, I realize that she is clinically insane. “Unless you told him something. Did you say something bad about me?”

Chelsea takes a step back, her face horrified. “No. Of course not. I never said anything bad about you. I loved you, Mama. You were all I had.”

“I wish I never had you. You brought me nothing but pain. I ended up in prison because of you.”

“You ended up in prison because you killed a man, but actually, you got off too lightly. You should have done the full sentence for cold blooded murder. You’re a monster, Mama. You’re so selfish that you would kill an innocent man who loved you just to punish your daughter, and pass her on to a man who takes pleasure in raping his own flesh and blood!” Chelsea screams back.

“You think you’re the only one who knows the kind of man your grandfather is? You think you’re the only one he’s hurt? You had to feel what I felt. You needed to be with my father to truly pay for taking James away from me.”

Real tears well up in Chelsea’s mother’s eyes when she remembers her own abuse. She chokes up and tries to stop herself from bawling, but the pain is too much for her.

“You’re sick,” Chelsea says with a disgusted look on her face. She raises her hands in the air like she’s avoiding touching anything that is in this room. Then she turns to run. Forgetting I am there, she runs right into me. I catch her and hold her close. She is shaking like a leaf.

Her mother is muttering to herself, but I can’t understand anything she is saying.

“My baby,” her mother screeches through the sobs. Holding her arms out like a zombie she starts moving towards Chelsea.

I hold up one hand in her direction, and I glare at her mother with so much fury she stops dead in her tracks. There is no way I’ll let that fucking bitch anywhere near my Chelsea again. Never. I swear it.

I lead Chelsea out of the house. No one tries to stop us. No doubt they have all heard what happened upstairs.

When we make it to the car, I sign to my security detail to follow behind. Then I help Chelsea in and get into the driver’s seat. I don’t say a word. I am willing to give up any kind of control. None of this is about me. Everything is about Chelsea, and keeping her safe. I am more determined now than ever to protect her.

Chelsea slumps over and onto me, but she isn’t crying. I hold her tightly until she pulls away. When she does, I put the key in the ignition and drive us back home.