Chapter 6: What Remains
Months later, I stood in my daughter’s nursery, holding her close.
Peaceful.
Safe.
Alive.
My mother was in prison.
My sister took a deal.
My father lost everything.
And me?
I finally breathed.
I didn’t forgive them.
Some wounds aren’t meant to heal softly.
They’re meant to burn—so you never forget who lit the fire.
But I survived.
