Chapter 6: Ashes in the Wind (Epilogue)
Ten years have passed since the wrecking ball shattered our prison.
Time does not heal all wounds, but it does allow you to build magnificent armor over the scars.
Clara and I did not become statistics. We became forces of nature. Clara is now Dr. Clara Sterling, a renowned trauma therapist. She runs a beautifully funded, state-of-the-art non-profit clinic for abused and at-risk adolescents, entirely bankrolled by the Sterling Trust. She takes broken children and teaches them how to forge their own swords.
I did not go into medicine. I channeled my hyper-vigilance, my cold calculation, and my intimate understanding of monsters into a different arena. I am a senior prosecutor for the District Attorney’s office, specializing in severe domestic violence and white-collar corruption. I hunt men like Edward Vance for a living, and I never lose a case.
We stood together on the sprawling balcony of my high-rise penthouse, the city skyline glittering below us like a carpet of diamonds. The night air was cool and crisp.
In my hand, I held an envelope.
It was from the federal penitentiary. It was from Patricia.
It was one of dozens she had sent over the decade. She wrote them every month. I knew what they contained without ever opening them. They were pathetic, rambling letters begging for forgiveness, begging for commissary money, begging for me to write a letter to the parole board to reduce her sentence.
She was drowning in the dark, desperate for me to throw her a rope.
I looked at the sealed envelope. I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel sadness. I felt absolutely nothing for the woman who birthed me.
With a calm, serene expression, I held the corner of the paper to the flame of a patio candle.
The paper caught instantly. It curled, turning a bright, angry orange, before collapsing into brittle black ash. I let the wind catch the embers, watching them drift out into the night sky, disappearing into the vastness of the city.
They tried to bury us in that house, I thought, taking a deep breath of the free air. They thought our fear was a toy they could play with. They thought we were weak.
They didn’t realize that when you force a girl to live in the dark for years, she doesn’t learn how to die. She learns how to navigate the shadows. She learns how to see everything they’re trying to hide.
Clara stepped up beside me, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulder. She rested her head against mine, looking out at the city we now owned.
At that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.
It was a text message from Chief of Police Rachel Vance.
“We got a raid on a corporate compound tonight. High profile. Suspected trafficking and domestic confinement. We need your brilliance on the warrants, Phoebe. You in?”
I looked at Clara. She smiled, her eyes fierce and bright.
I typed my reply: “Always.”
The fires of our past had not consumed us. They had forged us into the ultimate weapons for the future. And out there, in the dark, the monsters had nowhere left to hide.
If you want more stories like this, or if you’d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I’d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don’t be shy about commenting or sharing.
