For a moment, I barely recognized her.
The terrifying matriarch was gone.
She wore a faded beige coat. No pearls. No power. No audience.
Just an aging woman waiting alone for public transportation in the rain.
Our eyes met briefly through the mist.
She took one hesitant step toward the curb, lifting a trembling hand slightly.
And I realized something surprising.
I felt nothing.
No rage.
No triumph.
No pity.
Just peace.
Eleanor Bennett was no longer a villain.
She was simply a stranger standing in the rain.
I looked away from her completely and turned back toward my son.
I opened our umbrella and helped Ethan into the warm car.
As we drove away, Ethan pressed his little hand against the window watching raindrops race down the glass.
“Rain, Mommy,” he whispered happily.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said softly, pulling him closer. “Just rain.”
Three years earlier, Eleanor had looked at a terrified pregnant widow and told her to call a taxi because she believed I would break alone inthe storm.
