Hazel's POV
The memorial hall was suffocatingly quiet as I stood before the arrangement of wreaths. Each one I'd sent was more magnificent than the last—a silent statement to everyone present. I could feel dozens of eyes tracking my every move.
My aunt Helen squeezed my hand once more before drifting away, leaving me alone in the spotlight. I kept my chin high, refusing to shrink under the weight of their stares.
Tanya was the first to break the silence. She rose from her seat in the front row, her face contorted with grief and rage.
"How dare you show your face here?" she snarled, voice echoing through the hall.
I remained still, allowing her to approach. Her eyes were bloodshot, her makeup streaked with tear tracks. For a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of sympathy—she had lost her daughter, after all.
That sympathy vanished when she reached the largest wreath and violently kicked it over.
"You didn't come to mourn," she spat. "You came to gloat!"
