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Chapter Six
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2025-12-29 19:17:03The house felt different the next morning.
Not quieter. Not heavier. Just aware. Grace woke early, long before the sunlight reached the windows. She lay still for a while, listening to the muted sounds of the city beyond the walls. Her thoughts were steady, but her chest felt tight, as if her body had not yet caught up with what her mind had accepted. Nothing had changed overnight. And yet, everything had. She got out of bed and dressed carefully. No rush. No hesitation. Control came from moving deliberately. In the kitchen, Nathaniel was already awake. He stood by the counter, staring into a cup of untouched coffee. He looked tired, but not from lack of sleep alone. His expression carried the weight of realization. “Good morning,” Grace said. He turned. “Morning.” They stood there, a few feet apart. The space between them felt deliberate, not accidental. “I reviewed the files again last night,” Nathaniel said. Grace nodded once. “I assumed you would.” “There were gaps,” he continued. “Things that shouldn’t have been overlooked.” “But were,” Grace said calmly. “Yes.” He hesitated. “I don’t remember seeing the hospital report.” “You wouldn’t,” she replied. “It was never meant to reach you.” Nathaniel set the cup down slowly. “That doesn’t excuse it.” “No,” Grace agreed. “It explains it.” They ate breakfast quietly. The silence no longer felt like avoidance. It felt like processing. Later that morning, Grace left the house without announcing where she was going. Nathaniel did not ask. She went back to the legal center, this time with purpose. The older woman greeted her again. “You came prepared,” she said, noting the documents in Grace’s hand. “Yes,” Grace replied. “I’m ready to move forward.” They reviewed timelines together. Dates. Signatures. Decisions made in rooms Grace had never been allowed to enter. “You were removed from the process very early,” the woman said. “After that, everything moved quickly.” Grace listened without emotion. She had already mourned what was taken. “What are my options?” Grace asked. The woman studied her carefully. “Correction. Disclosure. And eventually, accountability.” Grace nodded. “That’s enough.” When she returned home, Nathaniel was on the phone. “Yes,” he said sharply. “I want the internal review files. All of them.” He ended the call when he saw her. “I’m reopening my own records,” he said. “Even the ones I was advised to leave alone.” Grace met his gaze. “That will cost you.” “Yes,” he replied. “I know.” She nodded. “Then do it because it’s right. Not because you feel guilty.” “I am,” he said quietly. “Or at least, I’m trying to.” That evening, they sat in the living room, not facing each other, but sharing the same space. Papers were spread across the table. Grace reviewed documents methodically. Nathaniel watched her from across the room. “You’re very composed,” he said. “I had years to prepare for this,” she replied. “For confrontation?” he asked. “For survival,” she corrected. Later that night, Grace dreamed again. Not of the courtroom. Of silence. She stood alone in a large room filled with unopened doors. Each door carried a label. Time. Truth. Forgiveness. Choice. She woke before opening any of them. The next day, Nathaniel left early. Grace stayed home and organized her notes. She created timelines, cross-referenced names, marked inconsistencies. This was not revenge. It was clarity. In the afternoon, a package arrived. Grace opened it carefully. Inside was a copy of the original audit report. The full version. Unedited. She sat down slowly. When Nathaniel returned that evening, she was waiting. “They sent it,” she said, sliding the document toward him. He read silently. “This was altered,” he said finally. “Yes,” Grace replied. “And you signed the altered version.” The words hung in the air. Nathaniel closed his eyes briefly. “I didn’t know.” “I believe that,” Grace said. “But belief doesn’t erase consequence.” He nodded. “No. It doesn’t.” That night, Nathaniel did not go to his office. He sat alone in the living room long after Grace had gone to bed. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully acknowledge the cost of his choices. Not the professional cost. The human one. In her room, Grace stared at the ceiling. She felt no satisfaction. Only readiness. The truth was no longer something she feared. It was something she carried. And this time, it would not be taken from her again.
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