At 5 a.m., I got a call from my son-in-law: “Come pick up your daughter at the bus stop. We don’t want her anymore.” When I arrived, my daughter was barely breathing, covered in bruises and broken bones. She sobbed, “My husband and his mother… they beat me.” Rage exploded inside me. I rushed her to the hospital, but she didn’t survive. I packed my bags and went to their house—because that family needed to understand what it feels like when a mother loses her child.

They are monsters, Margaret thought. And you have to kill monsters with fire.

She raised her arm. All she had to do was flick her wrist. The gas would catch. The old wood of the house would go up like a torch. The exits were blocked by fire. They would wake up to the heat, just as Emily had woken up to the pain.

“An eye for an eye,” she hissed.

Her muscles tensed to throw.

Part 4: The Miracle

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The vibration against her thigh was so violent in the silence that Margaret jumped. She nearly dropped the match on her own boot.

She gasped, clutching her chest. The flame in her hand wavered, burning close to her fingertips.

Buzz. Buzz.

She stared at her pocket. Who? The police? Had they found her?

She looked at the house. The gas was evaporating. If she didn’t throw it now, she would lose her chance.