I glanced up to see Olivia, tears streaming down her face, mumbling apologies that seemed more out of fear than genuine remorse. Her accusations, the lies she spun, had torn our family apart — revealing fractures that were deeper than I’d ever imagined.

My mother stood there, chest heaving, a mixture of rage and confusion in her eyes. She looked at me as if I were a stranger, someone who had somehow betrayed her by exposing the truth. The sight of her, my own mother, filled me with a profound sadness.

“How could you?” I croaked, voice barely audible. “How could you hurt your own grandchild?”

Her expression faltered, if just for a moment, but then hardened again. “You brought this on yourself,” she snapped, though the conviction in her voice wavered.