Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

T hat evening, Tricks is back at the Young household and I’m at home. Maisie has given me online interviews that are straining the ability of our internet. My cellphone rings, and I jump. Shit. Did I forget an interview?

“Hello?”

“It’s Sheriff Dunham,” he says, his oily voice making me shudder. “Just thought I’d give you a friendly heads-up. That little video stunt of yours? That kind of thing don’t matter in Forrester. We’re old school.”

My fingers tighten around the phone. “Why are you calling me?”

He chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. “You think a few social media posts are gonna overturn hard evidence? That’s cute. But this ain’t some TV show where the power of hashtags saves the day.”

“People are paying attention, so no more inventing evidence.”

“Nice try, sweetheart. Your circus boy is going to prison, and no amount of internet bullshit is gonna change that.”

The call ends, leaving me shaking with fury… and fear. I want to scream, to throw my phone across the room, to do something. But I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I head downstairs.

The familiar musty smell hits me as my eyes adjust to the dim interior. My mother sits in her usual spot, a chipped teacup cradled in her hands. The curtains are drawn, as always, shutting out the world beyond.

Heavy curtains block out any hint of sunlight, casting everything in a dull, lifeless gray.

“It looks like a prison in here,” I mutter, more to myself.

My mother’s voice, soft and brittle, catches me off guard. “Anything can be a prison. A room. A thought. And that’s what I deserve.”

I whip around to face her, confusion etching itself across my face. “What are you saying?”

She doesn’t answer, just stares into her teacup as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You know, you don’t have to live like this. We could open the curtains, let some light in—”

“No,” she cuts me off, her voice sharper than I’ve heard in years.

With a sigh, I make my way to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I pour myself a cup from her kettle and sit across from my mother. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I take a sip of tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. It’s been steeping too long, just like everything else in this house.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent so much time trying to escape this town, this house, and now here I am, right back where I started.

The walls seem to close in around us, trapping us in this self-made prison of memories and regrets. My mother and I, two generations of women, sitting in the dark, sipping tea that’s gone cold.

I set my cup down with a clink.

My mother’s gaze shifts from her teacup. “What’s wrong, Sienna?”

“All this work might be for nothing. The fake evidence… Logan could be imprisoned for life.” My voice wavers, and I hate the vulnerability in it.

She reaches across the table to touch my hand. “Logan is innocent.”

“Mom…”

“Oh, I know he hit your father. Put him in the hospital. But he didn’t kill him.”

The certainty in her tone startles me. “He died because of his injuries.”

She takes a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment as if bracing herself for what she’s about to say. “They said he might wake up. I couldn’t let that happen.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “What are you saying?”

Tears glisten in her eyes. “I unplugged the life support.”

The words hang heavy in the air between us, each one like a lead weight dragging me down. I stare at her, trying to process what she just confessed.

“You… you did?” My voice is barely more than a whisper.

She nods slowly, her grip on my hand unyielding. “He was a monster. I couldn’t let him come back and hurt us again.”

Emotion crashes over me like a tidal wave—relief that Logan didn’t kill my father, guilt for ever doubting him, and an overwhelming sadness for my mother’s burden.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looks down at our joined hands. “I was scared. And ashamed. I thought no one would understand.”

Tears spill over my cheeks as I pull her into a hug, holding on to her as if she might disappear. “Mom,” I whisper into her hair. “If anyone understands, it’s me.”

I hold her for a long time. She seems relieved, as if holding back the truth was costing her something. I don’t feel relieved, though. I’m torn.

Logan is innocent. The thought should bring comfort, but it doesn’t.

Not with the price tag attached.

I sink into my small twin mattress, my heart pounding against my ribs. What do I do with this? Free Logan or protect my mother?

The decision eats at me, each option tearing at the fabric of loyalty.

Logan behind bars because of false accusations, his life slipping away with every passing day. My mother getting the death penalty if her secret gets out.

I need Logan. But at what cost?

I rub my temples, trying to soothe the headache brewing there. Memories of Patrick’s cruelty flicker through my mind—his fists, his venomous words—but also the rare moments of tenderness that made staying feel like an obligation.

Does he deserve justice? Or does my mother deserve peace?

The truth slices through the fog of confusion and anger that’s clouded my mind for so long. My mother isn’t just a victim; she’s also a savior in her own right. The law won’t see her that way, but I do.

I sit on the edge of my old bed, the faded quilt rough beneath my fingers. The room smells like dust and forgotten dreams. Posters of pop stars from another era cling to the walls, their colors muted by time. I reach for a box under the bed, pulling it out with a cloud of dust that makes me cough.

Inside, a jumble of childhood relics greets me. I sift through them, finding a stuffed bear missing an eye, a broken music box that once played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and finally, a single photo that stops me cold.

Maisie and I grin at the camera, our mouths stained blue from snow cones. Her parents had taken us to the county fair. I remember the thrill of the rides, the laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, so rare in my childhood. My parents hadn’t taken me to the fair. My father had been off somewhere getting drunk and picking fights while my mother had stayed home, sipping tea in this very house.

I trace Maisie’s face with my finger. We look so happy, so innocent. The photo mocks me now—a snapshot of joy in a life filled with shadows.

My childhood was a sad one, punctuated by moments of fear and loneliness. Now I understand why my mother thinks she deserves prison.

She thinks she’s atoning for her sins.

Except there were no sins.

My father was an evil man who didn’t deserve to live. He had taken so much from us—our peace, our happiness, our freedom. My mother did what she had to do to end his reign of terror.

I won’t let her continue to suffer for his actions.

The decision settles over me like a shroud, heavy but resolute. I can’t betray my mother by revealing her secret. Logan will have to stay locked up for now, an innocent man caught in the web of small-town prejudice.

As I drift off, the world around me shifts and blurs. Suddenly, I’m sitting in a courtroom, but everything tilts off-kilter. The walls seem to bend at impossible angles, and the floor beneath my feet undulates like waves.

I look down and realize I’m sitting at the defense table, dressed in a suit that doesn’t quite fit right. Across the aisle, my mother stands tall and imposing, her usually meek demeanor replaced by a fierce determination. She’s the prosecuting attorney, her eyes blazing with an intensity I’ve never seen before.

The judge’s bench looms before us, and my stomach drops when I see Kyle sitting there, a smug grin plastered across his face. He’s wearing the judge’s robes, but they hang off him awkwardly, like a child playing dress-up.

“Order in the court,” Kyle drawls, his voice echoing unnaturally in the warped space.

I turn to look at the defendant’s chair, and my heart nearly stops. Logan sits there, his hands cuffed, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of confusion and betrayal.

The trial proceeds in a blur of nonsensical arguments and twisted logic. My mother presents evidence that makes no sense—a broken teacup, a faded circus poster, my old stuffed bear. I try to object, but my voice comes out as a whisper.

Finally, Kyle bangs his gavel, the sound reverberating through my skull. “I’ve heard enough,” he announces. “What’s the verdict?”

The jury box is empty, but a chorus of voices fills the air. “Guilty,” they chant, over and over.

“Guilty,” Kyle echoes, a triumphant gleam in his eye.

I turn to Logan, desperate to explain, to apologize, but the words die in my throat. His face contorts with fury, eyes burning into mine.

“You are the cause of this,” he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. “You betrayed me, Sienna. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

I jolt awake, heart pounding, sweat beading on my forehead. The dream clings to me like a second skin, leaving me shaken and disoriented.

I wake with a start, my eyes gritty and heavy. Weak morning light filters through the broken blinds, casting thin stripes across my childhood bedroom. For a moment, I’m disoriented, caught between the lingering tendrils of my nightmare and the harsh reality of waking up in this place again.

My phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand, jarring me fully awake. I fumble for it, squinting at the screen. Not the sheriff again, thank God.

“Hello?” My voice is husky with sleep.

“I’ve got something you’re gonna want to see.” Cat’s voice crackles with excitement.

I sit up, suddenly alert. “What is it?”

She pauses, and I can almost hear her grin through the phone. “I’ve got proof. Proof of the sheriff’s unethical efforts to cover for Kyle.”

My heart races. “How?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been… getting close to the sheriff. Seducing him, actually.” There’s a hint of pride in her voice. “And now I’ve got recordings. Conversations that’ll prove he’s a lying sack of shit.”

I’m speechless for a moment, torn between hope and horror. “Cat, that’s… that’s incredible. But also incredibly dangerous. Are you okay?”

She laughs, a sound that’s both bitter and triumphant. “I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m bringing that bastard down. You were right, you know? What you said in the tent. He did so much for me. This was the least I could do.”

She seduced him… I want to believe that she started to but didn’t have to go through with it? That seems unlikely. I’m afraid to ask. I feel a mix of gratitude and guilt. Cat endangered herself, all to help Logan. It makes me sad, but I also can’t wish for anything different. Not if it means Logan going free.