Within two months, I filed civil claims against Douglas Wren and publicly cut ties with my parents. Criminal charges were impossible due to time limits and gaps in evidence, but Douglas lost his board positions, his consulting contracts, and the carefully polished reputation he had hidden behind for years. Keaton testified about what he had heard at the wedding. Lianne apologized to me in a letter so raw I cried halfway through it.
As for my parents, they were left with exactly what they had built: a pristine house, a poisoned legacy, and silence from the daughter they had spent decades trying to break.
Six months later, Callum and I got married at the courthouse with Bennett between us, grinning in a navy blazer and holding our hands. No orchestra. No linen drapes. No performance.
Just truth.
And this time, when my son asked, “Do I belong here?” I knelt, looked him in the eye, and said, “More than anyone.”
