Chapter 5
We sat under the old oak tree for a long time.
The diamonds glittered in the velvet pouch.
The papers lay spread out between us, each one a nail in the coffin of the life I thought I'd lived.
"He stole from the Cooperative," I said, my voice hollow. "All those farmers who trusted him. Their families. Their livelihoods."
I thought about the years of hardship. The neighbors who stopped speaking to us. The way the town turned its back.
They knew. Somehow, they'd suspected.
And I'd defended Thomas. I'd told everyone he was innocent. I'd made enemies of people who'd once been our friends.
All for a lie.
"What are we going to do?" Emily asked softly.
I looked at her. At her kind face, her worried eyes.
She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to inherit a legacy of lies and pain.
"We're going to do the right thing," I said. "Your grandfather should have done this forty years ago."
I gathered the papers and put them back in the box. I tucked the pouch of diamonds inside too.
"We're going to return what was stolen," I continued. "Every dollar. Every diamond. And we're going to apologize. To the Cooperative. To the town. To everyone your grandfather hurt."
Emily nodded. "And Marcus?"
I thought about the man. The monster who had destroyed so many lives.
"Marcus will get what's coming to him," I said. "One way or another."
We walked back to the house. The autumn air felt colder now. The leaves that had looked beautiful just an hour ago now seemed like symbols of decay.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in the bed Thomas and I had shared for fifty years, staring at the ceiling.
I thought about the man I'd married. The young, handsome farmer who'd promised me the world.
Had any of it been real?
Had he ever really loved me?
Or had I just been part of the image he was trying to build—the respectable farmer, the devoted husband, the pillar of the community?
I got up and went to the window. The moon was full, casting silver light over the fields.
And that's when I saw it.
A car.
Parked at the end of the driveway.
It hadn't been there earlier.
My heart started pounding.
I watched, barely breathing, as the car door opened.
A man got out.
He was tall, lean, with gray hair and a face that had seen too much.
But even in the moonlight, even after all these years, I would have recognized him anywhere.
Marcus Bennett.
He stood there for a moment, looking at the house.
Then he started walking toward the porch.
I backed away from the window, my hands shaking.
Emily.
I had to get to Emily.
I ran down the hallway—slowly, as fast as my old legs would carry me—to the guest room where she was sleeping.
I burst through the door.
"Emily," I whispered urgently. "Wake up."
She stirred, then sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Grandma? What's wrong?"
"He's here," I said. "Marcus is here."
Her eyes went wide. She threw back the covers and got out of bed.
"What do we do?"
"Lock the door," I said. "Call the police."
Emily grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She dialed 911, her hands shaking.
But before she could speak, we heard it.
The sound of the front door opening.
May you like
He was inside.
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