Dominique Sterling.
I looked at my mother.
She was sipping eggnog and staring into the fire. She saw the envelope but didn't make a sound. She simply nodded toward the fireplace.
I opened it.
The letter was short and written on lined paper.
"Amara," it read, "the food here is inedible. I need money for the prison store. I know you sold my jewelry. Send me $500. It's the least you can do after you locked me up."
D.
I stared at those words.
Even now, she was convinced she was owed something.
No regrets.
There was no question about my mother's health.
Just a request.
I walked over to the fireplace. The wood crackled and hissed with orange sparks.
"Does it matter?" "—" Mom asked, still staring into the flames.
"No, Mom," I replied. "It's just spam."
I threw the letter into the fire.
The paper was crumpled.
The words turned black.
Her sense of superiority turned to ash.
I watched until the last piece disappeared into the ash.
I sat down on the rug next to Mom's chair.
She stroked my hair, just like she used to when I was little.
"We don't know what we're talking about, we don't know what we're saying,"—and we continued standing there. "Biology is just a lottery."
"But we choose how to protect ourselves," I concluded. "We know what we're talking about and what we're saying."
For a long time, I thought family meant sacrificing one's peace of mind for the sake of peace. When I see that on the right, I don't want to do it.
I was wrong.
The best part wasn't that Hunter was handcuffed by Dominique in a prison jumpsuit.
It was…
True revenge was this:
The warmth of the wind.
The smell of the tree.
The safety of a home that was finally truly ours.
I looked at Mom. It looked like there were no trees or other objects there.
I raised my glass.
"To us, Mom," I whispered.
If you don't know what to do, you can get hurt.
"To us, Amara," she said, "and to the phoenix."
We heard eleven glasses. It was in the glass when Crystal opened the door to his quiet home.
But if you leave it there, it will be too late to see what happened.
If you still wear baby clothes, you have to wait until you get out.
That was the beginning.
This experience taught me that true power isn't about being the loudest voice in the room. It's about having the courage to protect what matters most.
I learned that toxicity—even from those you share a blood connection with—should never be tolerated.
If you walk through a door, you have to go to the next room, but I won't walk through any other door.
I've regained my dignity.
Family isn't defined by DNA. It's defined by loyalty, respect, and love.
Sometimes you have to let go of the people who hurt you to make room for the rust you deserve.
