Narrated by Urso
How many times did I imagine this moment? How many times, since that damn day she left me at the hospital with our newborn, fighting for her life, did I find myself dreaming of the scene of her on her knees in front of me? Not for pleasure. Not for revenge. But for justice. For everything she took from me, from my daughter, from my mother, from our story.
Now she was there. Utterly wrecked. Broken. Her body covered in bruises, her face swollen and unrecognizable, dried blood stuck to the corners of her mouth, her arm dangling, still impaled by that piece of wood, like a grotesque reminder of what had already begun. Nicole did what many people dreamed of, but what came next was mine. It was personal. It was the end of a cycle that had eaten away at me for years. And she k
