Then my phone rang.
It was Mr. Delgado.
“Isabella,” he said, “you need to come to my office. There’s something your father prepared.”
Two hours later, wearing sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes and a scarf to cover bruises, I sat across from him as he handed me an envelope with my father’s handwriting.
Inside was a letter.
“My sweet Isabella,” it began, “if you’re reading this, your mother and I are no longer there to tell you ourselves. We know Adrian has hurt you more than you admit. We’ve seen you shrink just to survive him. But we also know you’re stronger than you think.”
My hands trembled as I read on.
My parents had arranged everything so Adrian couldn’t touch a single cent. The accounts were protected. The properties were placed in a trust. My father had even documented concerns about Adrian and prepared legal protections in case he tried anything.
At the end, one sentence stood out:
“Don’t confuse peacekeeping with safety.”
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