Then I read the message.

It was from Victor.

“Claire. I know I don’t deserve a response. I just wanted to say I understand now. You were never useless. I was.”

I looked at the message for a long time.

It brought no real pleasure. At least, not the satisfaction people tend to imagine. Revenge burns brightly only in stories. In reality, by the time the person who wounded you finally recognizes what they did, you’ve usually traveled too far out from under that weight to celebrate.

My father came and stood beside me.