* * *
One month later
* * *
The morning sun streamed through the homestead kitchen windows, turning everything golden. I sat on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, with Sapphire beside me, nursing my second cup of coffee while Bella flipped pancakes at the stove. Mitch was reading something on his phone, while Charlie stole bites of his bacon. Declan had his arm around Bella’s waist, occasionally getting swatted away when he tried to sneak tastes before the food was ready.
Sunday morning breakfast had joined Sunday night dinner as sacred family time. We’d all survived too much to take these moments for granted.
Sapphire’s phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at it, then went very still.
“What is it?” I asked.
She picked up the phone and read the message. “It’s from Detective Morris. Frank’s been transferred.”
The kitchen went silent. The sizzle of pancakes sounded as loud as gunfire.
“Transferred where?” Mitch set down his phone.
“From the hospital to a correctional facility.” Sapphire’s voice was carefully neutral. “They’ve got him in a specialized unit for inmates requiring ongoing medical care.”
“Still paralyzed?” Declan asked.
“Still paralyzed.” Sapphire looked up at me. “He could live for years in a wheelchair behind bars, unable to walk.”
Unable to die. Unable to end it on his own terms.
Frank’s worst nightmare. He’d always been a man who needed control, who needed to dominate and terrorize. Now, he was helpless, dependent, and trapped.
Perfect.
I thought I’d feel satisfaction. Or vindication. Or maybe some burst of rage for everything he’d done.
But there was nothing.
There was just an emptiness where Frank used to be.
“Good,” Mitch said flatly. “Let him rot.”
Charlie squeezed his hand. Across the table, Declan nodded in agreement.
I took a sip of my coffee and felt Sapphire’s eyes on me. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” And surprisingly, I was. “We don’t need to hear about him again. Ever. We know enough.”
I didn’t need to waste another ounce of energy on him.
He simply didn’t matter anymore.
She kissed my cheek. “Noted.”
Rose came into the kitchen carrying a basket of fresh eggs from the henhouse. She must have read the mood because she paused, looking around at all of us. “What?”
“Frank’s finally been transferred to prison,” Sapphire said.
“Good riddance.” Rose set down the eggs. “Now, who wants scrambled or fried?”
And just like that, we moved on. Conversation picked back up. Bella served pancakes. Declan stole syrup from Mitch’s hand and got a fork jabbed at his arm for his trouble. Life continued the way it always did.
