For the first time in months, I cried without trying to hide it.
“I wish she were here,” I whispered.
Dad squeezed my hand.
“I do too, sweetheart.”
We sat quietly as the afternoon light faded.
Preston was still facing the consequences of his decisions, and rebuilding our relationship would take time.
But Dad was safe.
The truth had come out.
And Cassandra no longer controlled our family’s future.
I had spent twelve years believing that justice meant finding the person responsible and proving what they had done.
Now I understood something deeper.
Justice could protect people, but healing required patience, honesty, and the courage to begin again.
Cassandra had tried to turn my mother’s legacy into a reason for revenge.
Instead, her actions reminded me why Mom had spent her life protecting people who couldn’t always protect themselves.
