Chapter 8: The Quiet After

After they were gone, the house felt strangely empty and peaceful at the same time.
I walked through every room, touching the walls my father had chosen, the furniture I had picked out myself. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a guest in my own home.
I sat on the edge of the bed I had shared with Ryan and finally let myself cry—not from fear, but from relief.
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My father had taught me patience. He had taught me to document everything and to strike only when the evidence was undeniable.
Today, I had finally used those lessons.