My mother-in-law poured boiling tea across my chest while I lay paralyzed on her living-room floor.

I filed for divorce immediately. Because of the attempted murder conviction, the prenuptial agreement I had been forced to sign six years ago was rendered entirely void. My lawyers sued both Daniel and Margaret in civil court for emotional distress, physical damages, and extreme negligence. By the time the dust settled, Margaret’s beloved ancestral estate had to be liquidated just to pay the settlements they owed me. The money she had so desperately tried to protect ended up in my bank account anyway.

A year and a half after the tea incident, I walked into the state penitentiary visitor’s room.

My scars had healed into faint, silvery webs across my collarbones—marks of survival that I no longer tried to hide with high-necked blouses. I sat at the metal table, the reinforced glass dividing the free world from the cage.

A door on the opposite side opened, and Daniel was escorted into the booth. He looked terrible. The arrogant, polished heir who used to obsess over his tailored suits and expensive watches was gone. He looked ten years older, his face gaunt, his prison uniform hanging loosely off his frame. He picked up the telephone receiver with trembling hands.

I picked up my end, saying nothing.

“Evelyn,” he breathed, his voice thick with desperate emotion. “You came.”

“I did,” I replied, my voice clear and steady.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, pressing his free hand against the glass. “You have to believe me, Evie. My mother poisoned my mind. She told me we were drowning in debt, that this was the only way to save the family name. I never wanted to hurt you. I loved you.”

I stared at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger, no sadness, no betrayal. Just an overwhelming sense of profound boredom.

“I didn’t come here for an apology, Daniel,” I said softly. “I came here because I realized I never got to tell you the punchline to your mother’s brilliant little joke.”

Daniel blinked, confused. “What?”

“The insurance,” I said, leaning closer to the glass. “When I found your half-finished application on your laptop, the one forging my signature to bump the payout to two million dollars… I didn’t just ignore it. I called the broker the very next morning. I didn’t just stop the increase. I canceled the entire policy.”

Daniel froze. His breath hitched in his throat as the words slowly registered in his mind.

“When your mother poured boiling water on me, when you stood over my dying body and checked your watch…” I smiled, a genuine, cold expression. “You were watching me die for zero dollars and zero cents. You traded your freedom, your family home, and the rest of your life, for absolutely nothing.”

The color rapidly drained from his face, leaving him looking sickly and gray. His jaw trembled, and a look of absolute, soul-crushing horror washed over his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“Goodbye, Daniel,” I said, hanging the receiver back on the cradle.

I stood up, smoothed the skirt of my designer dress—bought with Margaret Hale’s liquidated assets—and turned my back on him. I didn’t look back as I walked out of the visitation room, out of the heavy steel doors, and stepped into the bright, blinding sunlight of a beautiful afternoon. I took a deep breath of fresh air, my lungs expanding freely, and walked toward my waiting car, finally ready to begin the rest of my life.