Chapter 11 Misunderstanding
She left Anne’s room and headed downstairs, but paused when she noticed Jonathan in his own room. The door was open.
“May I come in?” she asked from the doorway.
“Come.”
Elizabeth stepped inside and sat beside him on the bed. He was holding a photograph—him and his father, smiling.
“Your father helped me once, a long time ago,” she said softly.
“Really? When?”
“I was nine. There was a fire accident at home, and I burned part of my leg. Your father went to the hospital, stayed with me… I met him that day.”
Jonathan smiled faintly and gently lifted her chin, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
For a moment, he thought how beautiful and kind-hearted she was—maybe he could get used to that.
He deepened the kiss, slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer—but she winced.
“Jonathan, I’d better go downstairs…”
“Wait. Take off your sweater.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that kind of intimacy?” she joked lightly.
“I want to see your back. I know you’re hurt.”
Elizabeth froze. Without Ronald, she had no one to protect her. Could she trust Jonathan? If he saw the marks—would he still want her? Or would he turn away, disgusted by her imperfection?
She hesitated. Maybe it was worth the risk… or maybe it would destroy everything.
“Jonathan, let’s drop this. I’m going downstairs…” she said, standing up.
Jonathan caught her arm. “I’ll see what they did to you, and you’ll tell me how it happened.”
He pulled at her sweatshirt. She wore a white T-shirt underneath. The fabric lifted slightly, and he caught a glimpse of a dark bruise near her ribs.
“Elizabeth, you’re hurt. Take off the shirt,” he said—not a request, but an order.
He thought she needed help, but when she resisted, he lost patience. Pulling her closer, he pushed her onto the bed, thinking it would be easier to see if she didn’t struggle.
“Jonathan, please don’t!” she cried, holding the hem of her shirt with one hand, pushing against him with the other.
Anne, hearing the noise, hurried down the hallway. She froze in the doorway just as Elizabeth pleaded, “Jonathan, stop! Let me go, please!”
“Jonathan Larson! Let her go!” Anne’s voice cut through the tension.
He stopped immediately, backing away. Elizabeth ran past his mother, tears streaming down her face.
“It’s not what it looks like, Mother—”
Anne slapped him hard across the face. “I didn’t raise an abuser! She’ll be yours—but in the right time.”
“Mother, I swear I would never—”
“I’ll ask your uncle to take her away. Your father would be ashamed of you right now.”
Jonathan’s anger ignited. He had just lost his father, tried to protect Elizabeth, and now… he was being accused of the very thing he despised most.
“You’ll pay for this, Elizabeth Wolf,” he muttered under his breath, burning with fury.
If Elizabeth’s fate rested in Jonathan Larson’s hands… she’d better be careful—because forgiveness was never something he gave easily.