[CHAPTER 17] - The Last Appeal
Three years after Vivian went to prison, her final major appeal was denied.
I was eight.
Nora was ten.
We were old enough to understand more.
That didn't make the news easier.
Vivian's attorneys argued that evidence from the garage camera should never have been admitted.
They argued Mason's testimony was unreliable.
They argued Maya's toxicology had been contaminated.
The court rejected everything.
Her conviction stood.
Dad read the decision at the kitchen table.
"That's it?"
I asked.
"For this appeal."
"Can she try again?"
"Lawyers can always file things."
My stomach tightened.
Dad noticed.
"But she isn't getting out."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
Nora sat beside me.
She no longer looked frightened when Vivian's name came up.
Mostly she looked annoyed.
"She'll be old in prison."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
"Good."
Hannah gave her a look.
"What?"
Nora said.
"I'm allowed to be mad."
Hannah smiled sadly.
"You're right."
That afternoon, a reporter called.
She wanted to interview us.
Dad refused.
Another called.
Then another.
A streaming company offered money for the story.
Dad hung up.
Nora thought about it.
"We could tell people."
Hannah looked concerned.
"You don't owe anyone your story."
"I know."
Nora turned to me.
"What do you think?"
I shrugged.
"I don't want strangers knowing everything."
"Me either."
So we stayed quiet.
Other people talked.
News articles appeared.
Some got facts wrong.
One claimed I found Nora because I followed a ghost.
Another said Dad had known Vivian's family history.
He hadn't.
For a while, I wanted to correct everyone.
Dad taught me something important.
"You don't have to chase every lie."
"But they're wrong."
"I know."
"What if people believe them?"
"The people who matter know what happened."
That lesson took years to accept.
Vivian had built her power on controlling stories.
She lied about Maya.
Hannah.
Nora.
Dad.
Me.
For a long time, correcting lies felt like survival.
Eventually I learned truth didn't always need to scream.
Sometimes it just needed to remain standing.
Our lives became ordinary.
Beautifully ordinary.
Nora played soccer.
I played piano badly.
Hannah changed jobs.
Dad finally dated someone.
That last part was complicated.
Her name was Rachel.
The first time Dad told me about her, I panicked.
"No."
He blinked.
"I haven't even asked you anything."
"No wife."
"Ellie—"
"No."
I ran upstairs.
I felt terrible later.
Dad didn't get angry.
He sat outside my door.
"Rachel isn't moving in."
I didn't answer.
"She isn't replacing anyone."
Silence.
"She doesn't even know if she likes me yet."
I laughed despite myself.
Dad smiled through the door.
"That hurt."
I opened it.
"Does she have secret family?"
"Everybody has family secrets."
My face changed.
"Bad answer."
"You're right."
He sat beside me.
"She knows what happened with Vivian."
"Everything?"
"Enough."
"Did police check her?"
Dad almost laughed.
Then he realized I was serious.
"No."
I crossed my arms.
"Maybe they should."
He hugged me.
Rachel never became my stepmother.
Not because anything bad happened.
They dated for a year and decided they were better friends.
That taught me another lesson.
Not every relationship ended in betrayal.
Sometimes two decent people simply didn't fit.
Dad seemed sad.
He was okay.
Hannah teased him mercilessly.
Nora and I once wondered if Dad and Hannah would marry.
They both looked horrified.
"Absolutely not," Hannah said.
Dad laughed.
"Your aunt terrifies me."
"Good."
Hannah threw a napkin at him.
They loved each other like siblings by then.
Our family didn't need romance to hold together.
It already had history.
One summer night, Nora slept over.
We were supposed to be asleep.
She whispered from the other bed.
"Ellie?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember the wall?"
I stared at the ceiling.
"Yes."
"Everything?"
"Not everything."
"I don't either."
That surprised me.
Nora's memories had once seemed sharper than mine.
"I forget what the room smelled like."
"Good."
"I forget Mason's voice sometimes."
"Good."
She was quiet.
"But I remember you."
I turned.
Moonlight covered part of her face.
"I remember your fingers."
"What?"
"Through the vent."
I remembered.
Our hands touching through metal slats.
"You said don't cry."
"I was four."
"You were bossy."
"I'm still bossy."
She laughed.
Then her voice softened.
"I thought I was going to die in there."
I didn't know what to say.
"I thought nobody knew."
I climbed from bed.
I sat beside her.
"I knew."
"Yeah."
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
"That's why I remember you."
We stayed there quietly.
Three years earlier, we had held hands through a wall.
Now there was nothing between us.
No vent.
No locks.
No Vivian.
Just darkness outside the windows.
The normal kind.
May you like
The safe kind.
And when Nora eventually fell asleep, she did it with the bedroom door closed.
