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EPILOGUE

CHARLOTTE

Ten Months Later

My eyes fixate on the clear partition as an uncomfortable plastic chair makes my back ache. Given the wide array of my mother’s crimes—murder, blackmail, bribery, political espionage, the list goes on—she was sentenced to life with the possibility of parole. Hopefully it’s a minuscule possibility. Her parental rights to the twins were also, thankfully, terminated.

It was a justified punishment, but I can’t deny the pain I felt trying to explain all of this to them. My mother was far from perfect, but in their seven-year-old brains, it didn’t matter—she was theirs . And now, she’s gone.

Given my dad’s involvement, we gained guardianship of the twins during the trial.

Do I forgive him? Depends on the day.

Do I trust him with the other two humans I love most in the world to always look out for and protect them? Unfortunately not.

But that’s why they’re in our home now. It really didn’t take much convincing for Dad to let us adopt them. He knows we’re the best option for them.

Thankfully Tony and Luna help as often as they can, too, which made it possible for me to attend some classes this semester. It may take me longer than anticipated to graduate, but I’m still trying.

I’ve avoided seeing my mother, but we’re coming up on Gabriella’s first birthday, and I’m ready to close this chapter of my life so I can enjoy my family. Noah thankfully had a full recovery and is back to being one of the NFL’s best rookie quarterbacks.

The sound of screeching metal brings me back to the present.

Every nerve in my body fires off warning signs to leave, but I need to do this.

I need closure.

My mother’s tired eyes meet mine as she takes a seat on the other side of the partition. The polished politician is long gone, replaced by a worn, wary woman. Not even a faux smile for my benefit.

She picks up the corded phone, and I follow suit.

“It’s nice to see you, Charlie.”

Wish I could say the same.

“Hey.”

“How is Gabriella?” The idea of her even knowing my daughter’s name makes my veins buzz, but I ignore it.

“Good.”

“And the twins?” she asks. As if she actually cares.

“They’re fine,” I say.

“How’s school?”

I purse my lips. “Is this really what we’re doing? Bullshit small talk?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says, exasperated. “You came to see me.”

Swallowing my anxieties, I ask, “Do you regret it?”

Her brows pull together. “Regret what?”

“The things you did.”

She tilts her head. “Of course I do.”

“Because you were caught, or because you know it was wrong?” My heart pounds as I await her response. I don’t even know why I want these answers, but my therapist seems to think a conversation with her will help my healing process.

She waves a hand. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” I scoff, anger rolling through me. “Noah’s father almost shot me thanks to you!”

“I told him the baby wasn’t Noah’s because I thought he’d leave you out of it,” she says, lips tight.

“Well, all it did was make him more eager to jam a gun in my side,” I say, a shiver racking through me. “So thanks for that.”

“Someday you’ll realize being a parent is not an easy task.” She shakes her head. “The decisions you make might blur the lines of morality.” Her eyes bore into mine. “But you’ll do it because it’s for your family.” I huff a laugh. Even jailed for life, she’s still lying through her teeth. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re sitting here, using your family as a cop-out for the decisions you made.” I purse my lips. “You’re using us as an excuse.”

“Everything I was working towards was for our family,” she says, jaw tight. “I was making sure none of us would have to worry about anything ever again.” I don’t have the energy to argue with her delusional logic. It’s as if she forgot she cut me off financially when I needed her the most. I did plenty of worrying. “I brought us money, power, and security.”

“We didn’t want any of it,” I say, no fight left in me. “We just wanted a mom .”

“You were more than happy to accept access to your trust fund again,” she says condescendingly. “You must care about the money a little bit.”

“Honestly? When I got the call from the estate lawyer, I almost told them to shove the blood money. Because we both know that’s what it is.”

“Charlie,” she warns.

“But I quickly realized there’s a lot of good that can be done with it.” Pride fills my chest. So much good can be done. “In fact, I’m headed to a charity event right after this.”

A smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “Following in your mother’s footsteps after all.”

It’s clear she’s not remorseful. She still doesn’t view the things she did as wrong. She’s unapologetic. Hell, maybe she should be in a psych ward instead of a prison.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I say, and it feels final.

Her gaze holds mine, and I almost see a crack in her resolve. Almost see a hint of moisture in her eyes. “Goodbye, Charlie,” she says, hanging up the phone, standing, and walking away without a second glance.

As I leave the prison, a single tear rolls down my cheek. My mother did a lot of fucked-up things in her life. But if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s what not to do with my family. Because of her, I will be the most loving, understanding, present parent to our children. I’ll never take my husband for granted or forget to tell my friends how much I appreciate them.

My mother set fire to my life, like Noah’s father did to his, but they didn’t realize it would ignite a raging inferno within us. A burning desire to share that light with the world.

Thanks for dropping the match.