I stared at him, speechless, my chopsticks frozen halfway to my mouth.A strange feeling stirred within me that I couldn't quite name. It wasn't gratitude, exactly, nor was it vindication. It was something deeper, more profound—the sensation of being truly seen, truly understood for the first time in years.He was right. What I called "letting go" was merely a compromise born from exhaustion. I hadn't truly let go; I'd simply stopped fighting because I thought I couldn't win.Sending Scarlett to prison through official channels was necessary, but it was clinical, impersonal. It was because I didn't want a stain on my life's record, not because it would heal the wounds she'd inflicted.But that wasn't enough to compensate for the years of suffering I'd endured. The public humiliation, the loss of my son's love, the gaslighting that made me doubt my own sanity—those required a different kind of justice.I lowered my eyes and smiled, a genuine smile that felt foreign on my face after so l
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