Chapter 46 Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX~
Olivia Reed's trial was straightforward. The evidence against her was overwhelming. She was found guilty on all counts and sentenced to fifteen years in prison.
"She'll get help there," her brother Michael told me after the sentencing. "Mental health treatment. Maybe she can finally find peace."
"I hope so," I said sincerely.
With Olivia in prison, life began to settle once again. The house was repaired. The security was upgraded. The kids went back to normal routines.
"How many times have we done this now?" Declan asked one night. "Rebuilt our lives after an attack?"
"Too many," I said. "But we keep doing it. We keep surviving."
"For how long?" Declan asked. "How many more times can we rebuild before something breaks permanently?"
I didn't have an answer.
Dr. Chen suggested we needed a fresh start.
"You're living in a house filled with bad memories," she said. "Every room has been invaded, every space has been threatened. Maybe it's time to find somewhere new."
She had a point.
Declan and I talked about it and decided to move. Not far—we didn't want to disrupt the kids' schools—but to a different house. A new beginning.
We found a beautiful place across town. Modern, secure, with no history. Just blank walls waiting for us to fill them with new, better memories.
"This feels right," I told Declan as we walked through the empty house before closing. "Like we're finally leaving the past behind."
"I hope you're right," Declan said.
Moving was harder than expected. Not physically, but emotionally. Every item we packed carried memories—some good, some terrible.
"Do we keep this?" Liam asked, holding up a photo from his seventh birthday. It had been taken just weeks before Rick kidnapped the twins.
"Yes," I said. "We keep the good memories. We don't let the bad ones erase them."
Sarah helped us move. She and I had grown even closer since her forgiveness, bound by everything we'd survived together.
"New house, new start," she said as she helped me unpack boxes in the kitchen. "Maybe this time it'll stick."
"Maybe," I agreed.
Three months after moving in, life felt genuinely peaceful. The kids had adjusted well. Declan's foundation was thriving. My work with the FBI was fulfilling but not overwhelming.
"We're actually happy," I told Dr. Chen during one of our sessions.
"You sound surprised," she observed.
"I am," I admitted. "After years of chaos, happiness feels strange. Like I'm waiting for it to be taken away."
"That's normal given your history," Dr. Chen said. "But Anita, at some point you have to trust that good things can last. That you deserve sustained happiness."
I wanted to believe her.
And slowly, I started to.
Six months after moving, Declan surprised me with a renewal of our wedding vows.
"We got married in chaos," he said. "I want to recommit to you in peace."
It was small and intimate—just family and close friends. Sarah was my maid of honor. The kids participated in the ceremony.
"I take you, Anita, to be my wife," Declan said, tears in his eyes. "Again. For the second time. And I promise to love you through whatever comes next. Good or bad. Peace or chaos. I'm yours."
I cried through my own vows. "I take you, Declan. I've taken you every day for thirteen years, and I'll keep taking you for the rest of my life. We've survived the worst. Now let's enjoy the best."
It was perfect.
No drama. No interruptions. No threats.
Just love.
"This is how it should have been the first time," my mother said at the reception.
"The first time made us who we are," I said. "I wouldn't change it."
"Really?" my mother asked. "You wouldn't change any of it?"
I thought about all the pain, all the fear, all the near-death experiences.
"No," I said finally. "Because all of it led us here. To this moment. To this family. And that's worth everything we went through."
My mother hugged me. "You're stronger than I ever was."
"I learned from you," I said.
A year passed. Then two. Life continued in its peaceful rhythm.
Liam started high school. The twins became best friends with Sarah's daughter Diana. Declan's foundation helped hundreds of families. I was promoted at the FBI.
"You're thriving," Agent Torres said during my performance review. "Have you thought about moving into a leadership position?"
"Not yet," I said. "I'm enjoying field work too much."
"Well, when you're ready, there's a place for you," Agent Torres said.
I was considering it. But I was also enjoying the peace too much to rush into anything.
Then, on a ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
"Hello?"
"Anita Harris?" a woman's voice asked.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Dr. Emily Winters," the woman said. "I'm Marcus Winters's daughter."
My blood ran cold. Marcus Winters—the man who'd faked his death and tried to blow up a building. The man who'd been in prison for over a decade.
"What do you want?" I asked cautiously.
"My father died last week," Emily said. "Heart attack in prison. Before he died, he asked me to contact you."
"Why?"
"He wanted me to apologize to you," Emily said. "For everything he put you and your family through. He said in his final days, he realized how much pain he'd caused. How his desire for revenge had destroyed his own life as much as it hurt you."
I was quiet, processing this.
"He also wanted me to give you something," Emily continued. "A letter. He wrote it months ago, when he knew his health was failing."
"Why would I want a letter from Marcus?" I asked.
"Because he claims there's something in it you need to know," Emily said. "Something about your family that he discovered during his time plotting against you."
"What kind of something?" I demanded.
"I don't know," Emily admitted. "He wouldn't tell me. Said it had to come from him. Will you meet with me? Let me give you the letter?"
I should have said no. I should have hung up and forgotten about it.
But curiosity won out.
"Fine," I said. "But in a public place. With witnesses."
"Of course," Emily agreed.
We met at a coffee shop downtown. Emily was in her early thirties, professional-looking, nothing like her father.
"Thank you for coming," she said, sliding an envelope across the table. "This is it. My father's final message."
I stared at the envelope. "Did you read it?"
"No," Emily said. "He sealed it and made me promise not to open it. Said it was for your eyes only."
"Why would you honor that promise?" I asked. "Why would you do anything for a man who tried to kill people?"
"Because despite everything, he was my father," Emily said simply. "And in his own twisted way, he loved me. This was his last request. I'm honoring it."
I took the envelope.
"I'm sorry," Emily said. "For everything my father did. I know an apology doesn't fix anything, but I want you to know—I'm nothing like him. I've spent my life trying to be better than he was."
"I understand," I said. "Trust me, I understand."
Emily left. I sat alone with the envelope, debating whether to open it.
Finally, I did.
Inside was a letter in Marcus's handwriting.
Dear Anita,
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Good. I don't deserve to live after everything I've done.
I spent years plotting revenge against your family. I destroyed my own life in the process. And for what? James Harris was already dead. My revenge didn't bring me peace. It just brought more pain.
But during my investigation into the Harris family, I discovered something. Something that James kept hidden even in his confession. Something that, if it came out, would destroy everything you think you know about your family.
I debated telling you for years. Part of me wanted to use it against you, to hurt you one last time. But I'm tired, Anita. Tired of hating, tired of seeking revenge.
So I'm giving you this information as a gift. Or a curse. I'm not sure which.
James Harris had another child. A daughter he never acknowledged. She was born before he married Declan's mother, to a woman James had an affair with in college. He paid the mother off, made her sign papers promising never to contact him.
That daughter's name is Catherine Morrison.
Yes, THAT Catherine Morrison. The woman who harassed you, who helped Victoria plot against you. She was James's daughter. Your husband's half-sister.
Catherine discovered the truth about her parentage years ago. That's why she was so obsessed with destroying Declan. She felt he'd stolen the life that should have been hers.
I'm telling you this because Catherine is still out there. Still alive. Still plotting. And she's not done with your family yet.
Be careful, Anita. The past isn't finished with you.
- Marcus Winters
My hands shook as I read the letter twice, then three times.
Catherine Morrison was James's daughter.
Declan's half-sister.
And according to Marcus, she was still out there somewhere.
Still planning.
Still dangerous.
I called Agent Torres immediately.
"Catherine Morrison was released from prison two years ago," Agent Torres said after checking records. "She served her time for harassment and assault. But Anita, we've been monitoring her. She hasn't made any moves toward your family."
"Maybe she's been waiting," I said. "Biding her time."
"Or maybe Marcus was lying," Agent Torres suggested. "Trying to cause you pain one last time before he died."
"We need to verify this," I said. "Find out if Catherine really is James's daughter."
Agent Torres ordered DNA testing. Catherine had been arrested before, so her DNA was in the system. They compared it to James's DNA from his autopsy.
The results came back three days later.
"It's true," Agent Torres said quietly. "Catherine Morrison is James Harris's daughter. She's Declan's half-sister."
I felt sick. "Does Catherine know we know?"
"I don't think so," Agent Torres said. "We've been discreet. But Anita, we need to bring her in for questioning. Find out what she's planning."
The FBI tracked Catherine to an apartment across town. When they went to question her, they found the place empty.
"She's gone," Agent Torres reported. "Cleared out in a hurry. Someone must have tipped her off."
"So she knows we know," I said.
"Seems like it," Agent Torres agreed.
That night, I got a text from an unknown number.
Did you really think I was done? I've been waiting for the perfect moment to destroy you. And that moment is now. Watch your back, sister-in-law. I'm coming for everything you love.
Catherine was out there.
Planning.
Waiting.
And this time, she knew we were looking for her.
Which made her more dangerous than ever.
"I'm so tired," I told Declan that night. "So tired of fighting. Of being threatened. Of waiting for the next attack."
"I know," Declan said, holding me. "I am too."
"When does it end?" I asked.
"I don't know," Declan admitted. "But we'll get through this. We always do."
I wanted to believe him.
But for the first time in all our years together,
I wasn't sure we would.
Catherine Morrison knew all our secrets.
She'd been planning her revenge for years.
And unlike the others, she had a personal connection to our family.
She was family.
Which made her the most dangerous threat we'd ever faced.