“What kind?” she asked.
I knelt beside her.
“The kind where she chooses herself,” I said.
Amanda tilted her head. “Like you chose me?”
“Yes,” I said softly. “Exactly like that.”
Her mouth curved into a small smile.
Later that night, as I tucked her in, she looked at me with serious eyes.
“Are we safe?” she asked.
The question was simple.
The answer had to be too.
“Yes,” I said.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was lying.
Richard didn’t go quietly.
He sent emails.
He left voicemails.
He tried to reach out through extended family.
He accused me of betrayal.
Of arrogance.
Of overreacting.
But the truth was, his power had always depended on proximity.
Proximity to my business.
Proximity to my home.
Proximity to a daughter who believed adults were always right.
Now he had none of that.
And the silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was relief.
But it wasn’t the end.
Because Richard didn’t just lose influence.
He lost an audience.
