Brooke didn’t stand up. She didn’t let anger cloud her face. She looked at him with the cold indifference one reserves for a stranger.
“You have five minutes, Trevor. That’s what the court-ordered supervised visitation schedule allows.”
Trevor dropped his head, a tear hitting the gravel. “Brooke… I am so sorry. I let her destroy us. I ruined the only real thing I ever had.”
Brooke looked down at her sons, then back at the man who had once tried to force her to sign away her dignity in a cold clinic room.
“Chloe didn’t destroy us, Trevor. You did,” Brooke said softly. “She just gave you the shovel, and you dug the grave yourself.”
She checked her watch, then stood up, effortlessly lifting the stroller handle to wheel her sons inside the warm, sunlit house.
“Your five minutes are up,” she said.
She walked inside and shut the heavy oak door, locking it behind her with a clean, definitive click. As she looked around her beautiful, quiet home, Brooke took a deep, peaceful breath. Her accounts were settled, her children were safe, and her life was entirely her own.
The lies had finally burned away, leaving behind nothing but the beautiful, unyielding truth of her freedom.