Days turned into weeks, but the ache in my chest never dulled. Uncle Festus tried everything to make Manchester feel like home — movie nights, long drives, even surprise shopping trips — but the emptiness stayed. I'd wake up expecting to hear Mom's soft humming from the kitchen, only to remember she was thousands of miles away. Or worse — that I didn't even know if she was alive.
One morning, I sat by the window, staring at the drizzle painting streaks on the glass. Uncle Festus walked in, holding his phone tightly. His face was pale.
"What's wrong?" I asked, heart thudding.
He hesitated before answering. "It's your mom."
My breath caught. "What about her? Is she okay?"
"She's… in custody," he said quietly. "Interpol picked her up yesterday in New York."
The room spun. "What? Why? She didn't do anything wrong—she was protecting me!"
"I know, Kendra. But your father's lawyers pressed charges. Attempted murder, illegal sale of assets, flight from the country—"
"Attempted murder?" I cut in, my voice trembling. "He's still alive?"
"Yes. But barely. He's in a hospital under heavy security."
For a moment, I didn't know whether to cry from relief or rage. "So he gets to live after everything he did? After what he made her go through?"
Uncle Festus placed a hand on my shoulder. "The world doesn't always serve justice the way we expect it to. But we'll fight for her."
That night, sleep wouldn't come. I sat at my desk, staring at Mom's photo — the one where she held me on my seventh birthday, both of us laughing. I whispered, "You said freedom had a cost, but why does it feel like I'm the one paying it?"
The next day, Uncle Festus took me to a law firm in London. A woman in a sharp navy suit greeted us. "I'm Attorney Valerie Scott. I've been handling your mother's case for years, secretly. She trusted me."
I frowned. "For years? What do you mean?"
Valerie leaned forward. "Your mother began preparing for this long before you knew. She gathered evidence of your father's crimes — money laundering, contract killings, even trafficking. She handed them over to me for safekeeping. The plan was to use them when the time was right."
My heart raced. "Then why didn't she use them instead of… instead of injecting him?"
"She wanted him alive," Valerie said, voice steady. "The injection wasn't poison, Kendra. It was a paralytic. Temporary at first — but his body reacted badly. It wasn't meant to kill."
I froze. "So she never meant to…"
"No. She wanted to expose him publicly. But something went wrong."
A heavy silence settled between us.
When we got home, I couldn't stop thinking about what Valerie said. My mom wasn't a murderer. She was a woman pushed too far — one who had planned everything just to survive.
Later that night, a soft knock came on my door. It was Uncle Festus. "Kendra, there's something else," he said, voice low. "Your mother left you something — a letter."
He handed me an envelope, the paper creased from travel. My hands trembled as I opened it.
> My dearest Kendra,
If you're reading this, it means things didn't go as planned. I need you to know that every decision I made was to keep you safe. Hills destroyed too many lives — I couldn't let him destroy yours too. Don't hate me for the things I've done. Freedom sometimes costs more than we can afford, but I wanted you to live without fear. Be strong, my love. And trust your uncle. He knows what to do next.
– Mom
Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the letter to my chest.
For the first time, I realized freedom wasn't just about running away. It was about facing the truth — no matter how painful it was.
I wiped my tears and whispered, "I'll fight for you, Mom. I promise."
Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds began to part, and for a brief moment, sunlight broke through — a fragile promise of hope.