CHAPTER EIGHT
Two weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital.
I couldn’t walk without crutches.
But I walked out anyway.
Aunt Meredith drove me to her house.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t going home to my father.
I had no desire to.
That evening, I opened the envelope I’d been carrying before the accident.
My Boston acceptance letter was still inside.
So was the apartment deposit.
The money was damaged from the crash, but the documents were intact.
I stared at the words.
Congratulations.
I started crying.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I finally understood something.
My father had spent years convincing me that I was weak.
That I couldn’t survive without him.
That my sister needed me.
That the family needed me.
But none of that had been love.
It had been control.
The next morning, Detective Harris called.
“Your father has been arrested.”
I closed my eyes.
“What are the charges?”
“Attempted murder, fraud, theft, and insurance fraud.”
“And Olivia?”
“She gave a statement.”
I didn’t respond.
“She helped us establish the timeline.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“No.”
I felt relieved.
Not because I had forgiven her.
I hadn’t.
But because Olivia was finally doing something she should have done years ago.
Telling the truth.
