The criminal proceedings against Miriam moved forward with a mixture of public scandal and family resistance.
There is always someone who wants to turn the monster into a confused old woman, evil into illness, the method into error, the crime into a “family tragedy”.
I learned to hate that word.
Tragedy.
Because it sounds like lightning, an accident, a blind fate.
And that wasn’t what happened to us.
Someone made a decision.
Someone mixed some powder.
Someone smiled afterwards.
Trevor asked for reconciliation afterwards, of course.
Not immediately, but several times.
With tears, therapy, guilt, declarations, promises, and that masculine desperation that appears when a man finally understands that his passivity also has a moral signature.
I was never able to fully return.
There are doors that don’t close, they just go through.
And I had already gone through a very brutal one.
I don’t hate him with the simple fire with which I hated Miriam at first.
I hate him in a different way.
With the icy clarity one has towards someone who sees the monster coming for years and keeps telling you to be patient because the table is already set.
That kills too.
