Chapter 56

With my pulse throbbing a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I stared at the figure looming in the doorway. Each heartbeat was a thunderous echo in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. The gun—a stark, terrifying contrast to the dust motes floating in the stagnant air—seemed to draw all the light into its dark, lethal form.

Adam"s face blanched, his voice a strangled cry that shattered the stillness. "Oh, dear God," he breathed out, stumbling back a half step.

The intruder stepped forward, the gun unwavering in her grip. She was diminutive, her features soft and unlined, belying a fragility that contrasted sharply with the deadly weapon she brandished. A shock of dark hair framed her face, too young-looking to be called a woman, even though she was one, a young one. Her eyes, though, held a worldliness that no child could possess; they flickered with an intensity that spoke of years beyond her apparent age.

"Put the gun down," Adam"s plea sounded weak even to my ears, the desperation clawing at the edges of his composure.

"Victoria?" The name tumbled from Sarah's lips, barely a whisper but slicing through the tension like a blade. Her daughter, the girl she'd lost to shadows and silence, stood there, a ghost made flesh.

"Mom," she cooed, the mocking lilt of her voice wrapping around them all like a chill. "Surprised?"

Sarah crumpled, knees hitting the floorboards with an unforgiving thud, tears betraying her as they streamed down her face. The gun in Victoria's hand, that monstrous extension of her will, seemed to waver for a heartbeat—just long enough for a sliver of hope to pierce my despair.

"Sweet tears, Mom. Genuine, are they?" Victoria"s smirk twisted her once angelic features. The mockery stung more than any slap.

"Victoria, all these years… could you walk?" Sarah's voice cracked, a mix of hope and anguish threading through the syllables.

She circled us slowly, gun unwavering, like a shark with its prey. Her eyes met mine, gleaming with an unsettling resolve. I still had my gun and wondered if I could pull it fast enough. I didn't want anyone to be hurt today.

"Oh, Mom," she said, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, "you have no idea."

"Tell me." Sarah's plea was raw.

My heart kept pounding against my ribcage while Sarah was begging for the truth that seemed as elusive as her presence had been all these years.

"Father liked his little secret," she confessed, the word "father" tainted with scorn. "He said I was frail and needed protection. I was sick. But he lied. To everyone."

"Protection?" Adam echoed with disbelief painting his features in broad strokes.

"Control, more like it." Victoria"s lips curled into a bitter smile, the gun still pointed with an eerie steadiness. "He made sure I never took a step outside that room. Not until I realized the chains were all just smoke and mirrors."

"Chains?" Sarah repeated. She looked like her world was tilting on its axis as the puzzle pieces of their shattered life refused to fit back together.

"Metaphorical ones, Mom. The kind that bind you deeper than any lock or key ever could." Her gaze held Sarah's, unflinching and resolute, revealing the depth of deception they had been entangled in.

"Victoria, I…." Words failed Sarah; the enormity of the reality—a reality twisted by secrets and lies—threatened to swallow her whole.

"Medicine. Every day, little vials of lies," Victoria spat out the words like they were poison. Her arm didn"t waver, the gun a steady reminder of the stakes at play.

"Poison?" Sarah sounded like she was choking.

"Medication I didn't need. Enough to keep me weak in bed… make me too sick to complain or speak my mind." Her eyes flicked away for a fraction of a second, haunted by memories. "Daddy"s little invalid."

"Jesus, Sarah." Adam"s voice was a tortured whisper. "How come no one found this out?"

"Because he was a master of illusion," Victoria sneered, her finger tightening around the trigger. The mockery of a childhood spent under lock and key was etched in the pallor of her skin, as were the dark circles under her eyes that Sarah had always attributed to her "illness."

"Your doctor visits…" Sarah started, but her voice broke, tears choking the words. "It was all fake."

"He paid them all," she said with chilling calmness. "He handpicked them to tell you what he wanted you to hear. Dr. Hancock was his closest ally. He'd do anything for money."

"Victoria, I"m so sorry," Sarah sobbed.

"Sorry won"t change the past," she shot back, her voice cold as ice.

"Nor will that gun," Adam interjected, his hands raised placatingly.

"Maybe not. But it makes you listen, doesn"t it?" There was power in her stance, in the way she held onto her anger like a shield.

The silence that followed was loaded, a ticking bomb with no countdown. We were trapped in the shockwaves of revelation, each truth detonating closer to the core of their family facade. Victoria"s betrayal by her father, Sarah's blindness until it was too late, and the neighbor's misplaced trust—the pieces lay scattered, shards too sharp to piece back together without drawing blood.

"Victoria, please," Sarah whispered through tears, the finality of the moment pressing down on us all, "we can help you now."

"Help?" The word came out twisted and unrecognizable. "I don"t need help anymore, Mom. I needed it then."