It was something far worse for someone like her: documentation, legal action, and consequences that couldn’t be shouted away.

By midmorning, the locks were changed, garage access reset, gate code updated. Security access revoked. My accountant froze the household account and redirected my income. Utilities stayed in my name, of course—but Diane’s phone line, streaming services, and the department store account I had co-signed were canceled or flagged before lunch.

She sat in the driveway, muttering, while officers supervised. Eric loaded suitcases, glancing at me like I might change my mind.

I didn’t.

When Diane realized the fraud dispute included the handbag store, she exploded. “You can’t accuse me of fraud! We’re family!”

I stood on the porch with an ice pack against my neck. “You stopped being family when you burned my face and tried to extort me.”

Her voice shook. “I was angry.”

“So was I,” I said. “I still didn’t assault anyone.”

That ended it.

Eric approached me one last time. “Can we talk?”

“We are talking.”

His eyes lingered on my injuries, then dropped. “I messed this up.”

“Yes.”