I stared at the sentence.

Grant whispered, “Natalie?”

I couldn’t answer.

Thomas told me investigators had reopened my parents’ accident.

The crash that killed them had always been blamed on brake failure.

But the original mechanic’s report—buried inside archived insurance records—showed something else.

The brake line hadn’t failed.

It had been cut.

Diane hadn’t stolen me because tragedy handed her an opportunity.

She had created the tragedy.

She killed my parents.

Then took their daughter.

Raised me as her own.

Used my inheritance.

Built Brielle’s life using money stolen from the child whose parents she had murdered.

And thirty-one years later, she entered my hospital room believing she could take one more thing.

She was wrong.

Diane’s plea deal was withdrawn.

New charges followed.

One year later, she was convicted of two counts of murder.

Brielle testified against her.

So did I.