Below it was a date.
My thirty-third birthday.
Nine days away.
Bridget’s face went pale.
“Tessa,” she whispered, “what did your grandmother leave you?”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
She turned the laptop toward me.
And as I began reading the document on the screen, I realized something far more terrifying than the beating itself.
My family hadn’t attacked me simply because I had discovered their crimes.
They had been preparing to destroy me long before I walked into that house.
And the reason was hidden in a document my mother had kept from me for nearly a decade.
