“I know,” Caitlyn said. “That’s the irony. They couldn’t afford the restitution any other way. So they sold it. And here’s the kicker—after they paid everything for the court and the homeowner, they gave the remaining money to Clara.”
My throat tightened.
“They did what they demanded you do,” Caitlyn said quietly. “But with their own house.”
I should’ve felt satisfied. Vindicated. But what I felt was a hollow ache, like watching a building collapse in slow motion. Even when consequences finally arrived, my parents still chose Clara.
“And it gets worse,” Caitlyn added, voice dropping. “Clara’s creditor problems? They weren’t what she said.”
“What do you mean?”
“Turns out the ‘dangerous people’ were basically just an investment firm,” Caitlyn said. “They were threatening to sue. Like, normal legal stuff. No broken kneecaps, no scary hitmen. Clara exaggerated everything to scare your parents. She made it sound like her life was on the line.”
I closed my eyes, anger rising hot and clean.
“So she lied,” I said.
“Yeah,” Caitlyn whispered. “And now your parents are renting a small apartment with Clara and Michael. All four of them in a two-bedroom. From what I hear it’s… bad. Lots of fighting.”
When I hung up, Julian found me staring out the window.
“You okay?” he asked.
I turned toward him, and to my own surprise, I smiled—small, tired, but real.
“I think I am,” I said. “I think… I’m finally done hoping they’ll become different people.”
Part 6
After the arrest, my family tried to reach me through mutual friends like I was a customer service line they could call when they needed to fix something. At first it was vague: Your mom wants you to know she misses you. Your dad is really upset. Clara’s having a hard time.
Then it became direct: They want to apologize. They want to explain. They want to see you.
Every time someone brought it up, I said no.
Caitlyn called again a few weeks later.
“Your mom asked me to tell you she’s sorry,” she said. “She said they realize they handled everything wrong. That they made terrible mistakes.”
“It’s too late for sorry,” I replied.
I didn’t say it with drama. I said it like stating a fact. Like telling someone the store is closed.
“They spent five years not caring whether I was alive or dead,” I continued. “Then they demanded I bankrupt myself for Clara. Then they committed actual crimes because I wouldn’t do what they wanted.”