Chapter 59 up
“Sir… that’s Selena’s father, isn’t it?”
The whisper was not subtle. It was deliberately loud enough to be heard. Selena’s father halted just outside the courthouse gate, his back stiffening instantly. His hand tightened around a worn brown folder—documents he had never imagined he would be carrying for the rest of his life.
Beside him, his wife stumbled slightly. Her face was pale, cold sweat dampening her temples despite the cool morning air.
“Don’t listen to them,” he murmured quickly, gripping her arm. “Just focus on walking.”
But his words could not stop the stares.
People turned to look. Some whispered behind their hands. Some pointed openly. Others stared with undisguised disgust, without a trace of shame.
“I feel sorry for her parents,” a woman muttered.
“Or maybe they knew too,” another replied.
“Their daughter’s a kidnapper—God help them…”
Selena’s mother stopped walking. Her breath came in shallow gasps.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, clutching her chest. “Everyone’s looking at me like I’m… like I’m a criminal.”
Selena’s father waved to the nearby officer. “Please,” he said quietly but firmly. “My wife isn’t feeling well.”
Minutes later, Selena’s mother was seated in the waiting area, her face growing even paler as a medical officer checked her blood pressure.
“Severe stress,” the officer said briefly. “She needs rest.”
Selena’s mother closed her eyes. Tears slipped silently from beneath her lashes. “I failed,” she whispered. “I failed as a mother.”
Selena’s father held her hand. For the first time since everything began, his voice trembled. “We didn’t know everything,” he said, more to himself than to her. “We didn’t know how far it had gone.”
But deep inside, he knew—something had slipped past his watch long ago.
Inside the courtroom, Selena’s father stood before the judge. His shoulders were straight, but his eyes carried a deep, exhausted weariness.
“Witness,” the judge said, “are you willing to testify truthfully?”
“I am,” he replied, nodding.
He drew in a long breath. His hand trembled slightly as he placed it on the witness stand.
“I am the biological father of the defendant,” he said. His voice was steady—too steady. “And what I am about to say today… is not easy.”
He glanced briefly toward the defendant’s bench.
Selena sat there, her face drained of color. Her eyes widened when their gazes met. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
“Dad…” she whispered, barely audible.
He turned his eyes forward again.
“My daughter… was not always like this,” he continued. “She was stubborn, yes. Ambitious. But she cared. She could still listen.”
The courtroom fell silent.
“But in the last few years,” his voice lowered, “she changed. She became easily angered. Easily threatened. Every criticism felt like an attack to her.”
The prosecutor nodded slightly, signaling him to continue.
“My wife and I… chose to stay silent,” he said softly. “We thought it was just a phase. We thought that, as parents, our job was simply to support her.”
He swallowed. “We were wrong.”
In the gallery, Selena’s mother covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she struggled not to cry out.
“When she began lying,” he went on, “we forgave her. When she began manipulating people,” his voice grew hoarse, “we called it survival.”
His hands clenched. “We failed to stop her. We failed to confront her properly.”
Selena lowered her head. Her hands trembled in her lap.
“Dad, please…” she whispered, her voice small, almost childlike.
He turned toward her, pain written clearly across his face. “Be quiet,” he said softly but firmly. “It’s my turn to be honest.”
Selena fell silent.
The judge leaned forward slightly. “Did you notice any signs of criminal planning by the defendant?”
Selena’s father nodded slowly. “I did. I saw changes that were not normal. Money that appeared suddenly. Phone calls she tried to hide.”
“And what did you do?” the prosecutor asked.
“I looked away,” he answered honestly. “Because I was afraid of losing my daughter if I stood against her.”
The words hung heavy in the air—shameful, painful, undeniable.
“I stand here today,” he continued, his voice firmer now, “to say that blood must never be an excuse to allow a crime.”
Several people in the courtroom went still, struck by the bitter courage in his words.
Selena’s mother sobbed openly now. An officer moved closer, trying to calm her.
Selena lifted her head. For the first time since the trial began, there were no fabricated tears in her eyes. No performance of victimhood.
Only shock.
“Dad…” her voice trembled. “I did all of this because I was afraid of losing everything.”
Her father closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “And now you’ve lost it,” he said quietly. “Not because of others. Because of your own choices.”
Selena didn’t respond.
She lowered her head, her shoulders sagging. The words she usually relied on—excuses, defenses, tears—did not come this time.
For the first time, she had truly run out of voice.
The judge tapped the gavel lightly. “Testimony noted.”
Selena’s father stepped down from the stand. Each step felt heavy, yet his back remained straight. He returned to his seat beside his wife, who was now crying softly.
“I’m sorry,” Selena’s mother whispered brokenly. “I wanted so badly to believe everything would be fine.”
Selena’s father squeezed her hand. “We believed in the wrong thing,” he said quietly. “Now we have to believe in the truth.”
Selena was escorted out of the courtroom. She turned once, searching for her parents’ faces. Their eyes met.
There was no hatred there.
But there was no defense either.
Only distance—created by reality itself.
Selena’s steps faltered for a brief moment. Her chest tightened. For the first time, she felt something she could not manipulate.
Awareness.
That blood does not always protect.
That parental love is not a shield.
And that truth—no matter how cruel—will always come to claim its due.