“You counted on my sadness,” I said quietly. “You thought you could turn it into a tool. You thought if you kept me weak enough, confused enough, nobody would question anything you signed in my name.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Vanessa said, finding her voice again. “You’ve been in pieces since the tragedy. You’ve been seeing Chloe everywhere. You insisted on making a recording when you weren’t thinking clearly. This is proof of your condition, not ours.”
“Is it?” I asked.
I lifted my hand.
Frank opened the double doors at the far end of the library.
Chloe walked in.
She was no longer wrapped in a dirty blanket. Her hair was clean, pulled back in a simple braid. She wore a plain white dress and flat shoes. She looked small in the big room, but she held herself straight.
Every eye turned to her.
Someone at the back of the room whispered her name.
Vanessa’s knees buckled. She sank back into her chair, her face drained. Colby took a step backward, then another, his gaze fixed on Chloe as if she were a ghost come to collect a debt.
“You tried to erase me,” Chloe said, her voice steady. It echoed in the high ceiling. “You tried to write a story where I was just… gone. But I’m not.”