I stood in the doorway and looked at them for a long time.
“Okay,” I whispered, exhaling slowly.
I didn’t cry. Not then. There wasn’t space for that—not yet. Not when everything I felt needed to be channeled into something productive, something strategic, something that would protect the three people sleeping in my living room.
Instead, I went back to my room, opened my laptop, and started planning something that Oliver and Sarah would never forget. It wasn’t just revenge—revenge is messy and emotional and rarely satisfies the way people hope it will. This was something different. This was proof of their behavior, documented and irrefutable, delivered in front of everyone they cared about.
