La camminata verso la residenza dei King mi sembrò una marcia verso un campo di battaglia. Sistemai il tessuto ruvido della camicetta di Jenna, quella abbottonata fino al mento per nascondere i peccati di una codarda. Avevo le sue chiavi, la sua fede nuziale e un decennio di furia protettiva che mi ribolliva sotto la pelle.

The King Family's Undoing

Over the next three days, I dismantled their world.

Travis’s sister, Sarah, came over the next morning, ready to join in the usual psychological torment. She started screaming at me about a missing piece of jewelry. I didn't argue. I simply walked into the kitchen, picked up a heavy cast-iron skillet, and slammed it onto the counter so hard it cracked the tile.

"Get out," I said quietly. "And tell your mother if either of you sets foot on this property again, I’ll call the police and show them the recordings I’ve been making of your 'family visits.'"

I didn't have recordings yet, but the panic in her eyes told me she had plenty to hide. She fled, and she didn't come back.

As for Travis, he tried to play the victim. He tried to call the police on me. But I was ready. I had found the hidden stash of money he’d been stealing from Jenna’s meager paycheck, along with evidence of his illegal gambling debts.

When the police arrived, I was the one who met them at the door—bruises (Jenna’s old ones) visible, voice trembling just enough to be convincing. I showed them the "ledgers" I’d found. I told them I was terrified for my life.

Travis was hauled away in handcuffs, screaming that "that woman isn't my wife," but everyone just assumed he’d finally lost his mind.