smaller house near the coast.
One quiet morning, nearly a year after the divorce, I sat on my porch drinking coffee as sunlight moved across the water.
Daniel called.
“Thought you’d enjoy this,” he said. “The last restitution payment cleared.”
I looked toward the ocean.
For years, Margaret had told me I was lucky to belong to their family.
She was wrong.
The luckiest day of my life was the day they threw me out.
Because that was the day I finally stopped protecting them—and started choosing myself.
