Forty Two.

"Isabella, this has gone far enough!" Mrs. Rogers yelled outside the bedroom door. She had grown quite tired of her daughter's antics.

Knocking harder, she yelled again. "Isabella!"

Not getting a reply, she sighed. Sometimes, no, every time she missed her daughter, Irene. Irene Victoria had been calmer, sweeter and the stark opposite of Isabella. Of course, she would never compare the two sisters. She just silly missed having a cool-headed daughter who didn't make her stress or shout so much.

But Irene's cool-headedness had cost her life. And her death had cost them their own family. It had caused Isabella to drift farther from her. And had sent her into this mess.

Mrs. Rogers felt her heart beat in guilt. Somehow, she felt responsible. Responsible for Irene's death. Responsible for Isabella's pain. Her daughters had suffered in the hands of men and she always found out about it too late.

How had she not suspected when Isabella first arrived in San Francisco? How had she not read t