Chapter 8 - Breaking the Cycle
With Fallon legally neutralized and my parents' financial house of cards collapsing under the weight of their own deceit, the final threads binding me to my past were permanently severed.
Dr. Harris cleared my surgical grafts a month later during a routine follow-up examination in his private office. He traced the healing tissue along my abdomen with a smile of genuine professional satisfaction.
"You healed remarkably well, Maeve," Dr. Harris said, snapping off his latex gloves. "The microvascular integration is complete. The scarring will fade significantly over the next year."
"Thank you, Doctor," I said, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
"Just make sure you continue taking it easy for a few more weeks. No heavy lifting, no high-impact stress."
"Understood."
That evening, Tamsin and I celebrated at my apartment. But instead of sitting at the wobbly, scarred wooden table that had annoyed Tamsin for years, we sat around a brand-new, polished mahogany dining table I had purchased earlier that afternoon—paid for in full with a single swipe of my business card.
Tamsin raised a glass of sparkling cider in a toast.
May you like
"To new tables, zero debt, federal convictions for bad siblings, and multi-millionaire forensic auditors who can finally buy nice furniture," Tamsin declared with a bright, triumphant grin.
I clinked my glass against hers, smiling warmly. "To breaking the cycle."
