The Reckoning

I didn't sleep that night.

I lay in Elias's bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word he'd said. My mother. Damon. The murder. The cover-up. The letter.

I thought about the way she'd suffered. The months of pain. The slow decline. I'd been seventeen when she died. Old enough to know something was wrong. Old enough to ask questions.

But I'd never asked.

I'd accepted the story everyone told me that she'd been sick, that it was tragic, that there was nothing anyone could have done.

It was a lie.

And now I knew the truth.

The next morning, I made a decision.

I called Elias.

"Clara."

"I'm not ready to forgive you," I said.

"I know."

"But I'm not ready to lose you either."

There was a long silence.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means I need time. It means I need to figure out who I am without you. It means I need to confront the people who hurt my mother."

"Clara—"

"I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you what I'm going to do."

Another silence.

"Then let me help you," he said.

"No."

"Clara—"

"This is my fight. My mother. My revenge. I need to do this alone."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Alright," he said finally. "But if you need me for anything I'm here."

"I know."

I hung up.

I spent the rest of the day planning.

I had the evidence. The letter. The proof of what Damon had done. I knew who I needed to talk to. I knew what I needed to say.

I just needed to be brave enough to say it.

That evening, I drove to Damon's apartment.

I hadn't been there since before the wedding. The building was the same sleek glass and steel, a doorman who nodded at me like nothing had changed. I walked past him without a word and took the elevator to the top floor.

I knocked on the door.

It opened.

Damon stood in the doorway. He looked surprised to see me.

"Clara."

"We need to talk."

He studied me for a moment. Then he stepped aside.

His apartment was immaculate. All white walls and modern furniture. Nothing out of place. Nothing personal. It looked like a showroom, not a home.

He gestured toward the couch. I didn't sit.

"I know what you did," I said.

"What I did?"

"You killed my mother."

His face went pale.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You told your father about her. About the evidence she'd found. About her plans to go to the police. You're the reason she died."

He stared at me. His jaw tightened.

"Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It was him, wasn't it? My father." He laughed a bitter, ugly sound. "Of course it was. He's been poisoning you against me from the beginning."

"He told me the truth."

"The truth?" Damon stepped toward me. "You want to talk about the truth? Let me tell you some truth. Your mother was a whore. She was sleeping with my father while he was married to my mother. She was going to destroy my family."

"She was trying to do the right thing."

"She was trying to get rich. She wanted money. She wanted power. She wanted—"

I slapped him.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

He stood there, his hand on his cheek, staring at me.

"You don't get to talk about her," I said. "You don't get to say her name. You destroyed her. You destroyed me. And now I'm going to destroy you."

His eyes went cold.

"How?"

I reached into my purse and pulled out the letter. I held it up so he could see it.

"This is a letter from my mother to your father. In it, she names you as the person who told your father about her plans. She names your father as the man who arranged her murder."

Damon's face went pale again.

"That letter is a forgery."

"It's not."

"Even if it's not, you can't prove anything. My father is dead. Your mother is dead. It's one letter one piece of paper."

"It's enough to ruin your reputation."

He laughed. "My reputation is already ruined. You made sure of that."

"I can make it worse."

He stared at me. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he smiled.

"You know what's funny?" he said. "You think you've won. You think you've beaten me. But you haven't. You're still the same pathetic, desperate woman you've always been. You're nothing without my father. Nothing without me."

I looked at him.

"You're wrong," I said. "I'm not nothing. I'm the woman who's going to make sure you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder."

I turned and walked to the door.

"Goodbye, Damon."

I didn't look back.

I walked out of the building and into the night.

The air was cool against my skin. I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

I didn't know if Damon would come after me. I didn't know if the letter would be enough to destroy him. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was in control of my own life.

I called Elias.

"Clara. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I paused. "Better than fine. I told Damon the truth. I confronted him. I stood up for my mother."

"What happened?"

"I slapped him."

Elias laughed. It was the first real laugh I'd heard from him in a long time.

"Good," he said. "He deserved it."

"He did."

"Clara what happens now?"

I looked up at the sky. The stars were faint, almost invisible in the city lights.

"I don't know," I said. "But I'm not afraid anymore."

"Good."

"I'm not ready to be with you. Not yet. I still need time."

"I know."

"But I want to try. I want to see if there's something there. Something real."

"I want that too."

I smiled.

"Then wait for me."

"I will," he said. "I'll always wait for you."