I came home early with a birthday cake for my 5-year-old daughter and found her locked in the 5°F moldy basement. My little girl was curled on the concrete, gasping for air, her lips turning blue. My sister-in-law sipped laughed, ‘She was faking a cough for attention. I locked her down there to learn discipline. A little dust won’t hurt her.’ I rushed my daughter to the ER and made one call: ‘Execute the protocol on my residence. Target locked.’

Three days later, the house was warm and bathed in sunlight.

Mia was sitting on the living room rug, breathing easily, building a towering castle out of wooden blocks. The hospital had stabilized her quickly that night, and the steroids had done their job. She was safe.

Claire stood in the kitchen. She had flown back on the first available private jet after witnessing the live feed. She was staring out the window at the driveway, holding a mug of coffee.

I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I was wearing my faded grey sweater again, but the dynamic in the house had irrevocably shifted.

“She called me from the county jail,” Claire whispered, her voice devoid of its usual warmth for her sister. “She begged for bail money. She said you set her up.”

“What did you tell her?” I asked softly.

Claire turned around, looking up at me. Her eyes were red, but they were filled with a fierce, protective steel. “I told her that if she ever came near my daughter again, she wouldn’t have to worry about the police, because I would end her myself. Then I hung up.”

I smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good.”

Rachel was currently facing multiple felony charges, both for the financial crimes and the child endangerment. The video confession was airtight. Her ex-husband had filed for full custody of Leo, and he had won. She had absolutely nothing left.