The physical scars on my face remained, but they no longer felt like a mark of shame or a reminder of Beatrice’s cruelty.

They were simply part of my skin, a testament to what I had survived.

One morning, a thick envelope arrived from the district attorney’s office.

Liam opened it while I poured two mugs of coffee.

“The trial date is set,” he said quietly, looking up from the letter.

“How is Chloe doing?” I asked, sitting down across from him.

“Her lawyer says she is cooperating fully,” Liam said. “The state is offering her a suspended sentence in exchange for her testimony against her mother and Darrow.”

“She deserves a chance to rebuild,” I said. “She was a victim in her own way.”

“She was,” Liam agreed, reaching across the table to touch my hand. “But you are the one who had to carry the heaviest burden.”

“I am ready to put it down,” I said.

The courtroom was cold, smelling of floor wax and old paper.

Beatrice sat at the defense table, wearing a plain gray suit that looked too large for her now.