“My name is Isabella Morales,” I said calmly. “And I need to report a homicide and a family conspiracy.”
Two hours later, I sat across from Detective Harris handing over every piece of evidence.
“Why wait until now?” he asked quietly.
I took a long breath.
“Because I confused love with obedience,” I answered. “And I already paid enough for that mistake.”
That night, I texted my mother.
“I want us to reconcile. Come have dinner at my apartment tomorrow.”
She responded less than a minute later.
“I knew you’d come back to your family.”
What she didn’t know…
Was that dinner wasn’t forgiveness.
It was the beginning of their trial.
The next evening, they arrived smiling like none of it had ever happened.
My mother cried while hugging me.
“Sweetheart, this apartment is beautiful. I always knew you’d recover.”
My father admired the luxury furniture greedily.
