They put my mother in a car and drove to an abandoned house owned by Vivian’s family.

Strictly speaking, it belonged to me.

On the day Julian and I got engaged, Vivian had given it to me as part of the family’s marriage gifts.

Old.

Remote.

Supposedly a valuable historic property.

I had seen no real prospect of it increasing in value.

But I was so happy about marrying Julian that I didn’t care what they gave me.

Vivian not opposing the marriage had been enough.

Why bring my mother here now?

The courtyard gate opened.

Vivian was waiting inside.

“We’ve brought her, ma’am.”

They dragged my mother into a room like an animal.

A broken bed.

Filth across the floor.

Vivian covered her nose.

“Hurry. They’ll be here soon.”

Who?

What was she planning?

“Stop!”

I shouted as the men chained my mother in place.

She knelt vacantly and let them do it.

One man cut her finger.

He took her hand and used the blood to write on the wall.

“MY DAUGHTER DID THIS TO ME.”

Cold ran down my back.

Now I understood.

She would use my mother to destroy my name.

Let people believe I had been too vain to acknowledge the poor woman who found me.

That I had imprisoned and tortured her.

My mother had no tongue. They had broken her mind.

She couldn’t explain.

Neither could a dead daughter.

Vivian thought her plan was flawless.

“You poisonous bitch.”

I wanted to drag her into hell.

I lunged.

My legs failed me.

I looked down.

My lower legs were disappearing.

So this was it.

My time was over.

I wouldn’t see my name cleared.

Justice wasn’t coming.

I looked at the mother who had suffered because of me.

Blood-red tears fell from my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

“The reporters are nearly here,” a man reminded Vivian.

She nodded, took a photograph of me from her bag, and dropped it before my mother.

Then she went outside and locked the door.

I drifted over and knelt.

My arms hovered around her.

“I’m leaving soon. We didn’t get our chance in this life. You suffered because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Through my tears, I saw her move.

On hands and knees, she crawled toward the photograph.

Picked it up.

Under her tangled hair, her eyes shone.

She carefully wiped it clean and looked at my face.

A tender smile appeared.

Those weren’t the eyes of someone who had lost her mind.

Had she been pretending?

Before I could understand, she picked up a broken old bowl and smashed it.

A shard cut her palm.

Blood flowed.

She struggled upright and used her bleeding hand to rub out the words they had forced her to write.

Then, slowly and painfully, she wrote something else.

“JULIAN WHITMORE MURDERED HIS WIFE.”

The letters were stiff.

Awkward.

As though she had only just learned them.

Understanding struck through my shock.

All this time, pretending to be docile and confused, she had been secretly learning to write those words.

“Is someone locked in there?”

Vivian’s theatrical voice sounded outside.

As though she had only just discovered the house.

Footsteps gathered.

I went to the door and looked through.

Vivian stood at the front of a group of reporters.

Behind them, beneath a low cap, I recognized Hayes.

He was keeping his face hidden from her.

He already suspected the family. He must have heard about this and come to see for himself.

At last, a little hope.

If he saw the words, even once, the truth could come out.

“Thank you, Mom.”

After everything they had done to her, she was still trying to save me.

I bowed deeply beside her.

If another life existed, I would spend it giving her what I had failed to give in this one.

“Break it open!” Vivian demanded.

Several kicks shattered the lock.

“Good heavens. There’s a woman in here!”

She sounded horrified.

Then her face froze.

She saw the wall.

“JULIAN WHITMORE MURDERED HIS WIFE.”

Wet blood trailed down beneath the letters.

As though the wall itself were weeping.

My mother and I stood together, staring at Vivian’s white face.

She rushed forward to block the words.

My mother slammed into her.

All the hatred she had stored away erupted.

Her wasted body found an extraordinary strength.

Vivian was taller and heavier.

My mother knocked her down anyway.

She climbed over her and struck her, again and again, with wordless cries of fury.

Two large bodyguards couldn’t pull her away.

“Help!” Vivian screamed. “The lunatic’s trying to kill me!”

I cried as I watched.

I knew who my mother was fighting for.

One guard finally locked an arm around her throat from behind.

“Let her go!” I shouted.

Hayes moved.

He kicked the guard away and pulled my mother clear.

“Stop the reporters!” Vivian gasped. “Don’t let them film. Wash that off the wall. It mustn’t get out.”

“Who are you worried will see it?”

Hayes’s voice was cold.

He took off his cap.

“Me?”