“The litigation will drag on for years, and by the time it is over, there won’t be a penny left for any of us.”

“I will drag your grandmother’s name through the mud, and I will make sure the town knows exactly how Arthur died.”

“She’s bluffing,” Julian whispered to me.

“Am I?” Marjorie asked, her eyes glittering in the dim light.

I stood there, torn between the burning desire for public justice and the sudden, exhausting promise of an easy escape.

My grandmother’s ring felt heavy on my finger, a reminder of the generations of women who had suffered in silence.

I looked at the fireplace, where a pile of dry birch logs sat waiting.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Then, a floorboard creaked in the hallway outside.

It wasn’t the sound of an old house settling.

It was the distinct sound of a heavy footstep.

Marjorie’s eyes flicked toward the door, her composure cracking for just a second.

“Who else is here?” I asked, my voice rising.

Before she could answer, the brass doorknob began to turn.