The months that followed were brutal — waves of nausea, deep fatigue, sleepless nights, mornings when she couldn’t bear to look in the mirror.

I learned to cook nourishing broths, keep track of a tangle of medications, and sit quietly with her when there was nothing useful to say.

I sold the luxury truck Paige had bought with my money and put every dollar toward Gwen’s treatment and a small, cozy home in Kansas City, far from the memories.

I resigned from the job in Yellowknife and used my savings to start a metal fabrication shop with my old high school friend, Wyatt Cooper.

We earned less than I’d made up north, but I came home every evening, ate dinner with my wife, and was there.

The legal case against Margaret and Paige didn’t end in prison.