Chapter 10
A year to the day after I’d walked out of the Mercer house, I was standing in the grocery store, pushing a cart full of food for a dinner party Mia and Liam were helping me host.
I was reaching for a bottle of olive oil when I heard a voice behind me.
“Elena?”
I turned around.
It was Norma.
She was thinner.
Her silver hair was streaked with gray, cut short and uneven.
She was wearing the blue uniform of the grocery store, a name tag that said NORMA pinned to her chest.
She looked old.
Tired.
Broken.
I froze.
I thought she was still in prison.
“I got out last month,” she said, reading my mind. “Good behavior. Compassionate release. My health is bad. Heart problems. They said I could serve the rest of my sentence on house arrest if I got a job and stayed out of trouble.”
She gestured at her uniform.
“This is the only place that would hire me,” she said. “A felony record at sixty-three? No one wants you.”
We stared at each other for a long time.
The grocery store hummed around us.
People pushed carts past.
A baby cried.
A year ago, seeing her would have made my blood boil. Would have made me want to run, or scream, or fight.
Now?
I felt nothing.
No anger.
No hate.
No pity.
Just… nothing.
She was a stranger.
A stranger who’d tried to destroy me, and failed.
And now she was paying the price for the rest of her life.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet. “For everything. For the bills. For the lies. For the rock. For the knife. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I lost everything. My house. My son. My freedom. My reputation. All because I was greedy. Because I thought I was entitled to things I hadn’t earned. I learned my lesson, Elena. I swear I did. I just—wanted you to know.”
She waited for me to say something.
To forgive her.
To tell her it was okay.
But it wasn’t okay.
It would never be okay.
She’d stolen a year of my life.
She’d made me question everything I’d ever believed about love and family and trust.
She’d tried to kill me.
I looked her in the eye.
“Good,” I said. “You should be sorry. And you should spend the rest of your life making up for what you did. Not to me. To everyone else you hurt. But don’t ever talk to me again. Don’t ever look at me again. If I see you within five hundred feet of me, my family, or my house, I call your probation officer and you go back to prison. Do you understand?”
Her face fell.
She nodded.
“I understand,” she said.
I turned around, put the olive oil in my cart, and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
I paid for my groceries, loaded them into my car, and drove home.
Liam was in the backyard, firing up the grill.
Mia was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, singing off-key to the radio.
The sun was shining.
The sunflowers were in full bloom.
The house was warm and bright and full of laughter.
I walked into the kitchen, kissed Mia on the cheek, then walked out back and kissed Liam.
“Everything okay?” he said, noticing my quiet mood.
“Everything’s perfect,” I said.
And it was.
That night, after the party, after everyone had left, I sat on the porch swing with a glass of wine, looking out at my yard.
On the small table beside me was the deed to my house.
I’d framed it.
Not because I was proud of the money I’d made.
But because it was a reminder.
A reminder that I’d built something real.
Something no one could take from me.
A reminder that when the world had tried to break me, I’d gotten back up.
Stronger.
Smarter.
Better.
I thought about Norma, bagging groceries for minimum wage, living in a tiny apartment, alone.
I thought about Daniel, working construction in a town no one knew his name.
They’d wanted my house.
My money.
My life.
They’d ended up with nothing.
And I?
I had everything.
A home I loved.
A job that challenged me.
A sister who was my best friend.
A man who loved me for exactly who I was.
And the quiet, unshakable knowledge that I would never, ever let anyone take my power again.
I took a sip of wine.
Smiled.
And watched the stars come out over my house.
My home.
May you like
My life.
Finally, completely mine.
