---- Chapter 20 Elaina Barnett POV: Thea, now a precocious five-year-old with an artistic streak that both thrilled and terrified me, was dabbing bright purple paint onto a canvas in my studio. Julian, a thoughtful seven- year-old, was curled up in a beanbag chair, engrossed in a fantasy novel Graham had recommended. The afternoon sun streamed through the large windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It was a perfect, ordinary Tuesday. My phone buzzed on my worktable. It was a message from the director of the foundation's New York branch. What ---- could she possibly want after all this time? Graham came into the studio, drawn by my silence. He read the messages over my shoulder, his brow furrowing with concern. "You don't have to see her," he said immediately, his hand finding mine. "Ever." | knew he was right. | owed her nothing. But a strange curiosity, a feeling that this was a final, loose thread in the tapestry of my past, compelled me. "I think | have to," | said, more to myself than to him. "I need to know." The following week, | flew to New York. Graham insisted on coming with me, a silent, supportive presence in the background. | met Cory in a private room at the gallery. The woman who sat across from me was a shadow of the glamorous, malicious influencer | remembered. Her hair was its natural brown, her face was devoid of heavy makeup, and her expensive clothes had been replaced by a simple, conservative dress. The fire in her eyes had been replaced by a quiet, weary sadness. "Thank you for seeing me," she said, her voice soft, almost timid. "Why are you here, Cory?" | asked, my tone neutral. She took a deep breath. "For years, | hated you," she began, her gaze fixed on her hands, which were twisting a napkin in her lap. "| blamed you for everything. For Derek choosing you, for him destroying me, for the life | lost." ---- She looked up, and | saw a flicker of the old defiance in her eyes. "He was a monster. But | was one, too. | was so desperate for the life | thought he could give me, | didn't care who | hurt. | was cruel to you, and | am... | am deeply sorry for that." The apology hung in the air between us. It sounded genuine. "The money Derek gave me... it ran out a long time ago," she continued. "| had to get a real job. | started working as an assistant to a private art collector. He was an old man, kind but lonely. When he passed away last year, he left his collection to me. It's worth a fortune." She paused, a wry, sad smile touching her lips. "I finally got the wealth | was so desperate for. And I've never been more miserable. It's just... stuff. It doesn't fill the emptiness." "Why give it to the foundation?" | asked. "Because what you've built here... it's real," she said, gesturing to the gallery around us. "It's about healing. About turning pain into something beautiful. | need some of that. | need to do one good thing in my life. And | need... | need to let go of the past." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, worn, pearl -encrusted purse. My mother's purse. My breath caught in my throat. "| kept it," she whispered, her voice thick with shame. "I don't ---- know why. Maybe as a trophy. Maybe because it was the only beautiful thing | had that felt real. | had the clasp repaired. |... | collected every single pearl from your floor that day. They're all there." She pushed it across the table towards me. My hands trembled as | took it. It was a relic from a buried life, a symbol of so much pain. "| don't expect you to forgive me," she said, standing up. "I don't deserve it. | just hope that one day, you can think of me not as a monster, but as someone who finally, finally learned her lesson. Goodbye, Elaina." She turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the ghosts of the past. | opened the purse. Inside, nestled among the scattered pearls, was a single, faded photograph. It was a picture of my mother, young and vibrant, smiling on her wedding day. A picture | thought had been lost forever. | closed my eyes, a single, cleansing tear tracing a path down my cheek. The circle was complete. The final thread had been tied. | was not just free. | was whole.