“No,” Valerie snapped. “Sarah was your daughter. Chloe is your precious little replacement Sarah. Lily was mine.”
“Then why did you give her away?”
Valerie’s mouth twisted.
“Because Jack chose Sarah.”
Nobody spoke.
There it was.
The root of it.
Not grief.
Not love.
Not family.
A wound Valerie had fed for twenty-four years until it became her whole personality.
Dad had chosen Mom.
Valerie had waited.
And when Mom got sick, Valerie saw her opening.
I looked at her and realized something terrifying.
She had never moved on from losing Dad.
She had only moved sideways.
Into resentment.
Into envy.
Into my house.
Into my mother’s bed.
“You hated Mom because he married her,” I said.
Valerie’s eyes cut to me.
“I hated her because she always won without trying.”
“She died.”
“And still she wins!”
The words echoed through the basement.
Even the officers looked disturbed.
Grandma’s voice was barely audible.
“Take her upstairs.”
As the officers led Valerie away, she turned back to me.
“You think you’re different from her? You’re not. Men leave women like Sarah. They leave women like you. Soft little victims waiting for someone to save them.”
I stood, even though my leg shook.
“No,” I said. “They leave women like you too.”