I look up and meet Dev’s eyes. ‘I killed him, Dev,’ I say softly. ‘And then I lied to the police.’
70
Dev reaches for my hand, his grip firm and steady. ‘Merri, listen to me. You did what anyone else would have done. David was a monster. Who knows what other damage he’d have inflicted on innocent young girls if he’d lived?’ His voice is quiet but firm, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘You’re a good person, Merri. The best person I know. And I love you.’
His words feel like an anchor, grounding me just when I feel I may fall apart. I blink hard, my throat tight, but he doesn’t let go.
‘You don’t have to be afraid to tell me the rest,’ Dev says gently. ‘Whatever happened with the police, whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. Just keep going.’
I draw a breath, shaky but determined. And then I force myself to speak.
‘I told them the truth, that Beth and I left the house alone. That I had no idea David was following us. That I only saw him when it was too late, when he was already there on the hillside, furious, grabbing Beth, trying to control everything, like he always did.’ My hands won’t stop shaking. Dev notices – he always does. He reaches for them, lacing his fingers through mine. My rock.
‘I felt numb, completely devoid of emotion … It must have been the shock. But I let my voice break when I told them how she fought back. How David lost his balance. How they both went over the edge as I watched.’
Dev says nothing, but his thumb brushes gently over the back of my hand. It’s such a small thing, but it’s enough to keep me talking.
‘He looked at me, right before he fell,’ I whisper. ‘And in that second, I had no regrets. I’d done what I needed to do. But I know after what happened to your dad, you’ve always believed justice must and should be done and …’ But I can’t finish.
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not filled with fear or judgement. It’s just us being us.
Dev lets out a slow breath. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t flinch. He just watches me, his dark eyes full of something I don’t deserve – understanding. Maybe even relief.
Then Dev moves slowly, wincing as he gets to his feet and walks around the small table to where I sit. He cups my face so gently with one hand, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. ‘You have nothing to feel sorry about, Merri. He killed your sister. He was a parasite.’
I nod, and it’s a tight, breathless movement: if I try to speak, I might just break in two.
Dev presses his forehead to mine, his warmth settling into me, making me believe, just for a moment, that maybe there’s a chance we can put this behind us for good.
After I’d told Dev the truth, I decided I had to do one more thing.
I told the police the truth. Finally.
I had to force out the words, raw and shaking, but I said it –I pushed David that day.
I expected handcuffs. Cold metal on my warm skin. Maybe even a cell.
But the detective just leaned back, arms crossed and said something I never saw coming: ‘If you pushed him trying to save your sister, Merri, the CPS wouldn’t touch it.’
I blinked, couldn’t say a word. But he kept going, his voice calm, almost kind. ‘You were a vulnerable girl at the time. It was chaos and unbelievably traumatic to witness the violent death of your sister – especially at that age. The gravity of this stuff has a way of scrambling memories. You’re not alone in that.’
I tried to speak, but my throat had seized up. For years I’d carried the knowledge of what I’d done like a weight chained to my chest.I’m a murderer. That’s what I’d made myself that day.
But now he’s saying maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I didn’t mean to.
I was just a girl, scared out of her mind, trying to protect someone she loved more than the world.
I know this epiphany doesn’t erase what happened. But for the first time that day, I felt something shift inside me. I began to consider that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to keep punishing myself.
With Dev’s help and support, I decided it was time to let it go.
The Webbs knew what their son was. They covered for him, lied for him, let him prey on young girls to save their own wretched skins. My stomach churns at the thought, even now.
I spent so many years blaming myself and letting the guilt fester. But now I’m realizing the guilt isn’t mine to shoulder. It never was.
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
