“Ms. Helen, please,” she begged. “I have two small children. I can’t go to prison. Please forgive me.”
“Where were your children when you planned my murder, Rachel?” I said. “Did you think of them when you toasted my death? You wanted a better life for them—built on my grave. What an exemplary mother.”
Sarah intervened.
“Ms. Harrison can cooperate with the prosecution. If she testifies against Mark and returns what she can of the stolen money, she might get a reduced sentence.”
Rachel clung to that hope like a shipwreck survivor to a plank.
“Yes—yes. I’ll testify. I’ll tell them everything. It was all Mark’s idea. I just followed his orders.”
Mark looked at her with hatred.
“Traitor,” he hissed. “You damned traitor. You got us into this.”
“And you and your gambling addiction, you and your lies,” Rachel screamed back.
They were taken away amidst mutual screams and accusations. The door closed.
And finally, after days of tension, there was silence.
Michael approached and hugged me tightly.
“Sis… I can’t believe what I just witnessed. Your own son.”
“I know, Michael,” I whispered. “Believe me, I know.”
Sarah began packing up her documents.
“The legal process will be long, Ms. Helen—months, maybe a year. But with all the evidence we gathered, there is no way they will escape jail.”
“How much time will they get?” I asked.
“For attempted murder, fraud, and grand theft,” Sarah said. “Mark could face between fifteen and twenty-five years. Rachel, if she cooperates, maybe between five and ten.”
The magnitude of those numbers hit me. My son would spend decades in prison.
Part of me felt pain for that, but a larger part felt that justice was finally being done.
The notaries had me sign several official documents confirming my competent mental state, my capacity to make legal decisions, and the validity of my new will. Everything was registered with official seals and multiple witnesses.
“We will also file criminal charges for the money stolen,” Sarah explained. “The bank will cooperate completely. Mark will have to return every penny, plus interest and penalties.”
“He doesn’t have money to return,” I said. “He spent it all.”
“Then everything he has in his name will be seized—his car, his possessions, everything—and he will have a debt that will pursue him for the rest of his life.”
When everyone left except Michael and Brenda, I collapsed onto the armchair. The emotional exhaustion was worse than any physical pain from the accident.
“Do you want me to help you upstairs to rest?” Brenda asked tenderly.
“In a moment,” I said. “First I need to process all this.”
Michael sat beside me.
“Are you okay, Helen?”
“I want the truth,” I said. “I’m devastated. Michael, my son wanted me dead. How does a mother process that?”
“I don’t know, sis,” he said softly. “But I know you did the right thing. Mark needs to face the consequences of his actions.”
“Part of me feels like I failed as a mother,” I admitted. “Where did I go wrong? At what point did he become this monster?”
“You didn’t go wrong,” Michael said. “You gave him love, education, opportunities. He made his own decisions—his bad decisions.”
Brenda brought me hot tea.
“Ms. Helen, I saw how you raised that boy,” she said. “You were an exemplary mother. What Mark became is not your fault. Some people simply have darkness in their hearts.”
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