Chapter 9 - Closing the File
Three months after the trial began, I drove back to Milbrook one final time.
The Victorian house looked different in the autumn sunlight—less like a fortress of family secrets and more like what it truly was: an old building waiting for a new chapter.
Dad was coming home from the rehabilitation center next week. His health had stabilized remarkably well once the constant psychological toxicity of Lydia’s presence was removed from his daily life. We had spent hours on the phone redesigning his living quarters, replacing the heavy, oppressive dark wood furniture with bright, open, breathable spaces that let in the natural New England light.
I parked my car in the driveway, walked up the front steps, and unlocked the front door.
The house was silent, save for the grandfather clock ticking steadily in the hallway.
I walked straight into the kitchen.
The shelves where the Betty Crocker cookbooks used to sit were completely empty now. The old cabinets had been stripped down, sanded, and painted a clean, bright alpine white.
I opened my tote bag, pulled out my orange plastic EpiPen tube, and placed it carefully, securely in the center of the kitchen island where I could see it at a glance. Not as a weapon or a warning, but as a reminder.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text message from Dad: “Just talked to the contractor, Cassie. The new kitchen looks wonderful. Can’t wait to come home.”
May you like
I smiled, typed back a quick reply, and closed my laptop case.
The game was over. The hidden camera had done its job. And for the first time in thirty-six years, Cassandra Miller could finally breathe easy in her own skin.
