“Goodbye, Dad.”
I hung up.
Olivia squeezed my hand.
We watched the sunset together, and for the first time in months, my breathing felt full.
Six months later, I stood in court watching Deanna’s sentencing.
She had taken the DA’s deal, confessing to everything, including her role in my mother’s death.
She had been stalking our family for years, positioning herself to replace Mom and eventually me.
Dad got five years for child endangerment.
Deanna got 25 to life.
Neither sentence felt long enough.
But at least it was over.
I turned 18 the week after sentencing, inheriting both my mom’s trust fund and our family home.
The first thing I did was hire a hazmat team to deep clean the kitchen.
The second was to start therapy.
Olivia’s family helped me move back home.
Slowly, the house began to feel safe again.
I replaced Deanna’s poison tea collection with my own carefully chosen herbs.
I learned to cook for myself, finding joy in preparing meals that nourished rather than harmed.
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