A/N: I'd really like reviews! ) I'll only write more if I get reviews... ) Hope you enjoy this kinda modern version of Snow White!

--

Prologue

“Momma, can I come with you?”

“I wish you could, honey, but I can’t bring my children to work. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s okay, Momma. Have a fun day at work!!”

“Alright. Bye Serena!!”

“Bye Mom!”

Those were the last two words I ever said to my mother. It was a normal day. My mom was setting off for work, and I was going to be driven to school by our butler. I was six years old, and I was just going to a normal day of first grade.

But then it turned out to be not so normal.

I was surprised to see Dad come to school; he rarely steps out of his office. But then all of a sudden he was driving me to the hospital. I think deep down inside I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“Daddy? Why are we driving to the hospital?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept on driving until he swerved into a parking space. He turned off the engine, and breathed deeply for a few moments. Then he turned around to face me.

“Serena? Do you know what your mother’s job is?”

“Of course! She’s the best state prosecutor!!”

“That’s right, Serena. You see, the thing is… your mother’s job is to send criminals to jail.”

“I know,” I interrupted impatiently.

“Well, the thing is… One of the criminals she sent to jail had friends. Very dangerous friends. And they didn’t like that your mother sent their friend to jail. So… while your mother was driving to work, they… they…”

At this point Dad seemed to be able to go no further. But I was smart. I could figure things out. I didn’t want to believe it, but I somehow knew my mother was dead. At the time I didn’t understand that the “very dangerous friends” Dad had been talking about were in fact the mob. I realized this later.

As Dad took me into the hospital and up the elevator, I already knew there was no hope. And when we went into her room, it was horrifying. She was bruised all over, and had many cuts and scratches. She was connected to a lot of wires and other things, and there were many doctors and nurses bustling around her. After a little while, one of the doctors turned around and faced Dad and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Whittier. There’s nothing we can do for her.”

At that moment, Dad started crying. He crumpled down onto the floor and just started crying. But I was six. And I didn’t want to believe it. I just screamed, “NO!” and pushed past all the doctors and nurses and reached my mother. I stared at the doctor who had spoken to us and told him, “You’re lying. You’re lying! You’re wrong! She’s alive!” I faced all the doctors and nurses. “She’s alive! Why aren’t you doing anything? She’s alive! Can’t you see?? She’s not dead!”

But I saw all the sympathetic, and hopeless looks on their faces, and I knew, that my mother, was most definitely not alive. So I flung myself across her bed and started sobbing.

I didn’t know how long I cried. All I knew is that when I looked up, all the doctors and nurses were gone, and Dad was standing, solemnly, his eyes puffy. He saw me get up and said, “We have to go, Serena.”

I stared him straight in the eye for a few moments. Then I nodded.

He waited for me to walk over and when I did, we slowly walked out of the hospital room.

I don’t think I remembered much after that. But I got home somehow. And when I got home, I ran up the stairs into my room and flung myself on the bed.

A week later, we had the funeral. Momma’s parents, Grandpa Luke and Grandma Serena (my namesake), came over all the way from Texas. Dad had to buy a black dress for me. I noticed that Grandpa Allen and Grandma Karen (Dad’s parents) were conveniently absent. I knew they didn’t really like Momma, but I didn’t expect them to not even come for her funeral.

Momma’s brothers and sisters came too, with their families. All my cousins from my mother’s side were there. Dad spoke the eulogy, but I didn’t really pay attention. I just stared at the coffin my mother was in. They had dressed her in a beautiful white gown, which I interpreted to represent her pure spirit. When Dad finished, we got to go to look at her. I saw her in the coffin with a peaceful look on her face. The doctors fixed her up so she looked nicer, but I could still see the scars and the bruises. That was the last I ever saw of my mother.

It was five years after Momma’s death that Dad started dating again. I was furious. Certainly Dad felt the same way I did, that no one could replace Momma?

I hadn’t understood at the time that Dad was trying to find a motherly figure for me. I had figured Angela, our housekeeper, was good enough. Dad went on some dates before he finally found a girlfriend—Dora.

When Dad first took Dora home, I immediately disliked her. It wasn’t because she was Dad’s girlfriend, it was the way she looked.

Dora was pretty, of course… she had bright blue eyes that matched her light brown hair and she had plenty of make up on. But the first thing I noticed was that she was waaay younger than Dad. And Mom. Dad was about forty right now, and Dora looked like she was in her mid 20s. No way does a woman her age go for a guy Dad’s age.

The next thing I noticed was the long red fingernails. They creeped me out for some reason. And the look on her face… was pure evil.

After Dora moved in with us, I figured out why she stayed with Dad. Her wardrobe was bigger than mine, and her jewelry contained all real jewels. She wanted Dad for his money.

Dad’s pretty famous in the business world—Wilson Whittier, CEO of Whittier Enterprises. That’s why I always had a nicer wardrobe than my classmates—not that it really mattered.

Dora and Dad married after two years of dating. I was thirteen years old, and forced to be a bridesmaid. I think Dad might have sensed that I hated Dora, but he thought I would grow out of it. He was so wrong-about me growing out of hating Dora. And about Dora.