“You’re right. It’s best to stay quiet until everything is settled,” she’d replied, voice heavy with guilt. “I miss Chelsea every single day. I wish Louise wasn’t the one responsible—but the evidence says otherwise. I still care for her. She’s like my own sister.”
She had spoken of me as if I had already been condemned. As though there were no doubt left.
“I wish things were different too,” Phyllis had sighed. “They’ve reopened the investigation, and someone’s digging up more evidence. But there are still pieces that don’t align. I just want to help you find Chelsea. I know how much you ache for your daughter. But Louise knows what she did with the body.”
“Yes,” Charlene’s tone had hardened. “She does. And you need to get her to reveal where it is. Chelsea trusted her. If she really loved her, she would come clean.”
“I’ll get the truth, Anna. I promise.”
Those words cut deeper than any prison sentence.
Charlene had never trusted me. None of them had.
Now, Phyllis poured a glass of my favorite berry wine and handed it to me with a smile. “Thanks,” I mumbled, doing everything I could to pretend nothing was wrong.
“I’ll make it up to you, Louise,” he said, noticing my hands still trembled. He gently took the knife and began slicing my beef for me. “I regret not coming to see you. The pack... there were too many obligations.”
“Why are your hands shaking like that?” he asked, concerned, eyes narrowing.
“My time behind bars wasn’t exactly kind,” I answered, my voice flat and hollow as I sipped the wine. “There were nights I wanted to end everything. But thinking of you kept me going. I clung to the thought that one day, the truth would surface.” I met his gaze directly. “That one letter you sent? I must have read it thousands of times. It was the only thing that gave me a reason to live.”
Phyllis froze. His knife stopped midway through the meat. His expression darkened with something unreadable. “What happened to you in there?”
I paused, unsure if I should even answer.
Other inmates had whispered cruel things to me. That someone had paid to ensure my suffering. That Phyllis Brennan—and my own family—wanted to see me broken beyond repair.
I hadn’t wanted to believe them.
But now? I saw how blind I’d been.
Before I could speak, a booming voice shattered the moment.
“What are you doing here?”
My father.