Justice, Not Revenge
That night I went home with them.
Sue — Dale’s wife — greeted me with tears and a bowl of hot soup that tasted like someone wanted me alive.
I slept in a bed that smelled clean and soft, and for the first time in months I didn’t wake up wondering how to make myself invisible.
The next morning, Dale sat me down in his home office.
He didn’t speak like an angry man.
He spoke like a professional who’d seen this before.
He asked about the money I’d given Mason.
The down payment.
The checks that disappeared into “the household account.”
My name not being on the deed.
He wrote everything down.
Then he said, calmly:
- A formal letter would be sent.
- A full accounting would be demanded.
- The funds would be returned.
- Any direct contact would be treated as harassment.
I didn’t want war.
I didn’t want headlines.
I just wanted dignity.
Dale nodded like he understood exactly.
“There’s a difference between revenge and justice,” he said. “And you deserve justice.”
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
