Chapter 14
The sun dipped below the tree line, painting the snowy fields in shades of lavender and bruised blue. Elena sat in the rocking chair by the farmhouse window, a heavy wool blanket draped over her knees, watching the first evening stars prick through the darkening sky. Her phone rested on the small side table, turned off entirely, the battery removed and placed beside it. The trial was still months away, and the legal battles would be long and difficult, but the terror of the invisible audience had finally lost its grip on her mind. She could hear Martha moving around in the kitchen downstairs, the faint clatter of silverware and the smell of roasting chicken drifting up through the floorboards. Elena placed both hands on her stomach, feeling the slow, rhythmic movement of her child settling in for the night. She closed her eyes, breathing in the deep, quiet silence of the country evening, knowing that the story was finally hers to write.
