“You watched her hit me with a ladle, Caleb, and you did nothing,” I said, my voice echoing with a finality that brooked no argument. “You made your choice. Now, live with it.”
One year later, the sun rose over the manicured gardens of my Greenwich estate. I sat on the terrace, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, enjoying the absolute silence.
Without their toxic presence, the house was finally a home again. I had donated Bianca’s ruined designer bags to a charity auction after cleaning them up, raising thousands for a local domestic abuse shelter.
As for Caleb and Bianca, justice had been swift. Bianca took a plea deal for her financial crimes and was currently serving a two-year sentence in a minimum-security facility. Caleb, left penniless and without my financial safety net, was working sixty hours a week at a local warehouse just to afford a cramped, one-bedroom apartment.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, feeling a deep, profound peace wash over me. The scars on my forehead had faded, but the lesson I had taught them would last a lifetime.
