Two years later, Elara sat on the balcony of her own quiet apartment in the suburbs. She had been promoted again and now led the entire creative department at her firm.
She wasn’t wealthy beyond measure, but she had something far better: the freedom to decide how her life would be spent. She paid her own bills, bought Maya the best clothes, and never had to ask for permission to buy a cup of coffee.
Dante saw Maya on supervised visits, looking older and defeated. He had lost his job and was working a grueling shift at a warehouse just to pay off his legal debts.
One day, while shopping at a local mall, Elara saw Martha from a distance. The older woman was wearing a cheap uniform and scrubbing the floors near the food court.
Martha looked up, saw Elara’s polished professional appearance and Maya’s happy face, and immediately looked down at the floor in shame. Elara felt no joy in the sight, only a profound sense of relief that she was no longer that woman’s victim.
When she picked up Maya after a visit, Dante stood by the car and spoke in a cracked voice. “I realize now that we were monsters to you. I’m sorry for everything.”