He didn’t hesitate.
“Because your father was in the way.”
No regret. No shame.
Just resentment.
“You all needed someone to blame,” he added. “I just gave you one.”
I felt anger rise—but it didn’t consume me.
Because for the first time, I saw him clearly.
Not as authority.
Just as what he really was.
My mother walked out of prison three days later.
No cameras. No applause.
Just silence… and sunlight.
Matthew ran to her first.
I followed slower.
I didn’t know if she could forgive me.
For doubting her.
For staying silent.
For believing the lie.
“Mom…” I said.
She looked at me… and reached out anyway.
“We’re here now,” she whispered.
And somehow, that was enough to begin again.
We left that life behind.
The house. The memories. The shadows.
Matthew still wakes up some nights, but he’s not afraid to speak anymore.
