Chapter 13: Ghosts of the Quinns

Clara hadn't heard from the Quinns in weeks.

Until a letter arrived.

No return address. No signature. Just five words:

> "Meet us. One last time."

Against her better judgment, she went.

The cafe was small, half-forgotten. Diane and Greg sat in the corner, aged by desperation. Diane's eyes still held steel.

"We raised you," Diane said. "Fed you. Clothed you, gave you everything.

"You used me," Clara replied coldly. "And when I asked for love, you gave me silence."

Greg exhaled, bitter. "We were paid to take you in. Not to care. But we did, in our own way."

Clara laughed bitterly. "Neglect isn't love. You didn't raise me—you caged me."

"You've got everything now," Diane snapped. "We have nothing. So how about some gratitude?"

"You didn't lose me," Clara said, rising. "You lost your chance to matter."

As she left, she felt lighter.

That door—once a prison—was finally closed.

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