My Sister Collapsed Outside My Home at 2 A.M—Then Mom Texted: “Don’t Save That Cripple” I Called 911
At 2 A.M., my sister collapsed outside my home, bruised and shaking, clutching her disabled daughter. Minutes later, a text from our mother lit up my phone: “Don’t save that cripple. She’s a traitor.” That was the moment I knew this wasn’t just family drama—it was the start of one of the most intense family revenge stories I’d ever lived. What happened next pulled me into a fight for justice that risked my career, exposed dark family secrets, and turned into a battle where every move could decide my sister’s future.
I was halfway through a beer and a mindless crime show rerun when I heard the pounding. It wasn’t the polite kind of knock you get from a neighbor. It was sharp, frantic, and way too loud for 2 in the morning. My first thought was that someone in my building had locked themselves out again. My second thought was that it was probably trouble. In the military, you learn pretty quickly that nothing good happens after midnight.
I pulled on the hoodie hanging over the chair and walked to the door. The pounding came again, faster this time, followed by a voice I hadn’t heard in months. “Maddie, please open up.” It was my sister, Savannah. My stomach tightened. We don’t do surprise visits, not after the way things have been in the family. I flipped the deadbolt and cracked the door just enough to see her. She was swaying on her feet, hair stuck to her face, one eye swollen shut, clutching Khloe, her 8-year-old daughter, tight to her chest. Chloe was in her wheelchair, her little hands gripping the armrest so hard her knuckles were white.
I yanked the door open and reached for Savannah as her knees buckled. She collapsed against me with a groan. Khloe’s wheelchair caught on the door frame and I had to angle it in with one hand while supporting Savannah with the other. I got them both inside, pushed the door shut with my foot, and scanned them quickly. Savannah’s jacket was hanging open. Her shirt was torn and when I shifted her weight, she winced and clutched her side. I didn’t need a medic badge to know she was hurt.
Before I could even think about what to do next, my phone buzzed on the counter. I almost ignored it, but something made me grab it. It was a text from mom. “Don’t save that—She’s a traitor.” I just stared at the screen for a second. Patricia Blake, the woman who raised us, the one who made me recite “family comes first” like it was the national anthem, had just told me to let my sister and niece fend for themselves. I put the phone face down on the counter and focused on Savannah.
“You’re safe now. Sit here.” I eased her onto the couch, grabbed a blanket from the back, and draped it over her. Her breathing was shallow, and she kept her arm wrapped tight around her ribs. Chloe didn’t say a word, just sat in her chair holding a silver necklace. It was an old piece, one our grandmother used to wear, and I hadn’t seen it in years. The way she was gripping it, you’d think it was the only thing holding her together.
I crouched down. “Chloe, are you hurt?” She shook her head, eyes big and darting toward her mom. Savannah looked like she was trying to stay upright by sheer willpower. Her lips were pale, and there was a smear of blood on her chin.
“Don’t call mom,” she said weakly.
“Not a problem,” I told her because mom was the last person I’d be calling. I went to the kitchen, grabbed the field first aid kit I keep under the sink—habit from years in the military police—and returned to the couch. My hands were steady enough to cut away the loose threads around the tear in her shirt, but my jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. There was a nasty purple bruise blooming over her ribs and a shallow cut just above her hip.
“This needs a real doctor,” I said.
“Please don’t send me back,” she murmured.
That stopped me. “Back where?”
She didn’t answer, just closed her eyes. I looked at Chloe again. She was still watching everything, silent, the necklace glinting in her hand. Her wheelchair was old, the kind you get from the cheapest insurance plan. The left brake didn’t even look like it locked properly. I decided right then I wasn’t going to waste time asking for permission. I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit 911.
“Porter County emergency,” the dispatcher answered. “What’s your emergency?”
“My sister just showed up at my apartment,” I said, keeping my voice level. “She’s hurt badly. I think it’s domestic violence.” They asked for the address, and I gave it. The dispatcher kept me on the line, asking about Savannah’s condition, if there were weapons involved, if the suspect was nearby. My eyes went to the door, half expecting it to start shaking again.
Savannah opened her good eye and looked at me. “You don’t know the whole story,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m starting to figure that out,” I told her.
The dispatcher said help was on the way. I hung up, set the phone down, and grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen. I pressed it into Savannah’s hand, but she just held it without drinking. I pulled a chair over and sat facing them.
“Do you need anything right now?” I asked Chloe.
She shook her head. I kept my eyes on Savannah. “Do you want to tell me who did this?”
She opened her mouth like she was going to speak, then shut it again. Finally, she whispered, “It’s worse than you think.”
There was a knock at the door, not frantic this time, but firm. I stood, every muscle in my body tensing, and crossed the room. I checked the peephole. It was a paramedic, gear in hand, and an officer standing just behind him. I unlatched the door and let them in, stepping aside so they could reach Savannah.
The paramedic knelt beside her, asking questions in a calm, practiced tone. Savannah answered in short bursts, each word costing her effort. The officer looked at me. “Do you know who assaulted her?”
I hesitated, glancing at Savannah. She gave the smallest shake of her head. “Not yet,” I said finally.
The paramedic asked if she could walk. She couldn’t. He radioed for a stretcher, and I caught Khloe’s eyes following every move. I crouched by her chair. “They’re going to help your mom. Okay.” She nodded, but didn’t loosen her grip on the necklace.
The second paramedic arrived with the stretcher, and between the two of them, they lifted Savannah gently onto it. I followed them to the door, watching as they maneuvered down the hall. Khloe stayed by my side, and the officer told me we could follow to the hospital if we wanted. I locked the door behind us and wheeled Kloe toward the elevator, already feeling the questions stacking up in my head with no answers yet.
The elevator doors slid open and a blast of humid summer air rushed in from the parking lot as we followed the stretcher toward the ambulance. Kloe’s wheelchair rattled over the concrete, the sound sharp in the quiet. I kept one hand on her chair and the other hovering near my holster out of habit, scanning for anyone who didn’t belong. They loaded Savannah into the back, strapping her down with quick, practiced movements. One of the paramedics asked if I was riding with them. I glanced at Chloe, then stepped up into the back, locking her chair in place beside the stretcher. The officer climbed in too, taking the seat near the rear doors.
The ambulance started moving, siren off, but lights flashing. Savannah’s eyes were half open, fixed on the ceiling. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over her face and started checking her vitals. I stayed quiet, watching her breathing rise and fall, trying to figure out how someone could get to this point without reaching out for help sooner.
Khloe’s voice broke the silence. “Grandma was there.”
I turned toward her. “When?”
“Tonight,” she said, gripping that necklace so tight her fingers were turning red. “She told me not to talk.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Not to talk about what?”
Kloe glanced at Savannah, then back at me. “About Kyle.”
Savannah’s hand twitched on the stretcher, but she didn’t speak. The officer’s eyes flicked between us. “Is Kyle the suspect?” he asked, voice calm, but with that edge cops get when they’re filing mental notes.
Savannah’s voice was muffled under the mask. “Don’t tell them yet.”
I met her gaze. “You really think keeping quiet is going to make this better?”
She looked away. The paramedic announced her blood pressure was low, probably from internal bleeding. They’d do X-rays at the hospital.
Chloe shifted in her chair and the wheels squeaked. I crouched beside her. “You okay?”
She nodded, but her eyes were glossy. “He said he’d take me away. Said mom couldn’t stop him.”
That landed like a punch. In my head, I was already running through the steps—protective orders, emergency custody filings, the kind of paperwork most people dread, but I could practically fill out in my sleep thanks to my job.
The ambulance pulled into the hospital bay. The back doors swung open and another team was there to wheel Savannah inside. I pushed Kloe after them through the sliding glass doors into the blindingly bright ER. They moved Savannah into a curtained off area and a nurse came over with a clipboard.
“Family?” she asked.
“Sister,” I said, flashing my military ID without really thinking about it. It wasn’t required, but it usually sped things along. They let me stay, and Chloe, too, but the officer stepped outside to make some calls. Savannah’s vitals beeped steadily from the monitor. The nurse asked if there was a police report yet. I shook my head. Chloe kept staring at the curtain like she could see through it. I pulled my chair closer.
“You want to tell me what happened before you came to my place?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Grandma said mom deserved it and that I’d go live somewhere better.” My jaw tightened. Patricia always had her favorites and it was never Savannah. But to stand there and watch her own daughter get hurt, that was something else entirely.
A doctor came in, introduced herself, and started explaining the injuries. Two cracked ribs, possible hairline fracture in her arm, bruising consistent with blunt force trauma. I’d heard those words in enough reports to know what they meant. In plain English, someone beat her badly and more than once.
“Do you want to file a report now or wait until you’re feeling stronger?” the doctor asked Savannah.
Savannah shook her head. “Not yet.” The doctor glanced at me and I gave a small shrug. We weren’t going to get anywhere by pushing her right now. Chloe shifted in her chair, the old metal frame creaking. I reached over and adjusted the blanket around her legs. “You’re safe here,” I told her. Her eyes searched mine like she wanted to believe it, but wasn’t sure.
The officer came back in, a small notebook in hand. “I’ll need a statement from both of you when you’re ready,” he said. Savannah gave the smallest nod, still avoiding my eyes. I could read the message. She was holding something back. I didn’t know if it was fear, shame, or some twisted sense of loyalty to the wrong people, but it was sitting between us like a wall.
I stayed by her side while the nurse hooked her up to an IV. Chloe yawned, but kept that necklace clutched in her fist. I wondered if she’d even slept the night before, or if this had been building all evening. The sound of my phone buzzing pulled me out of my thoughts. I checked the screen. Another message from mom. “Don’t get involved, Maddie. You’ll regret it.” I didn’t reply. I just slid the phone back into my pocket and leaned back in the chair, already weighing my next move.
The nurse had barely stepped away when I shifted my chair closer to Savannah’s bed, lowering my voice so Khloe couldn’t hear every word. “You need to tell me what happened. All of it.”
Savannah’s eyes moved to Chloe, then back to me. “It started months ago. Kyle’s been taking Khloe’s disability checks. He says it’s for the household, but—” she trailed off, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket.
“But it’s not,” I said flatly.
She gave a slow shake of her head. “He spends it on himself. Trips with his buddies. New tools he never uses. Mom knows. She says I should be grateful he hasn’t left yet.”
That hit like a cold slap. Grateful.
Savannah’s jaw tightened. “Last night we fought. I told him I wanted Khloe’s money put in a separate account. He laughed. Said I was too stupid to handle money. Mom was sitting right there at the kitchen table drinking her tea, not saying a word.”
I could picture it perfectly. Patricia’s stone face, pretending nothing was wrong while the whole place went up in flames.
“He got angry,” Savannah continued. “Told me I was nothing without him. Then he grabbed me. I tried to push him off, but he shoved me into the counter. That’s when I felt something snap in my side.”
My hands curled into fists in my lap. “And mom?”
Savannah’s voice went even quieter. “She told me to stop making a scene.”
I stared at her. “She watched him hurt you and said nothing.”
“She told Khloe to go to her room. When I grabbed Khloe’s wheelchair to leave, mom blocked the door. She said if I walked out, I was on my own. No help, no money, no family.”
My stomach turned, “And yet she still texted me to leave you outside.”
Savannah’s lips trembled, but she didn’t cry. “I didn’t think you’d answer the door.”
“Duh. You thought wrong,” I said, sharper than I intended.
Kloe glanced up from her chair, sensing the tension. I forced my voice back down. “Where’s Kyle now?”
“I don’t know. He might still be at mom’s or he’s out drinking. He usually disappears after he—after nights like that.”
I sat back feeling the anger settle into something colder, more precise. This wasn’t just about him. Mom was part of it, enabling him, maybe even benefiting from it. “Savannah, do you have any proof of what he’s been doing with the money?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Bank statements. They’re in a folder in my closet, but the account’s in his name with mom as a co-signer. My name’s not on it. I only see the deposits because the VA still sends me letters.”
That was enough to start a paper trail. I didn’t need to touch the account to start pulling records. Not if she gave me authorization.
“You’re going to give me permission to access whatever you can,” I told her. “We’re not going to play nice about this. Not anymore.”
The officer came back in, glancing at his notepad. “Any updates?” he asked me.
“Working on it,” I said, which was technically true. He gave Savannah a polite smile. “When you’re ready, we’ll take your statement. You can also request a victim’s advocate if you want someone with you.”
She nodded faintly. After he left, I pulled my phone out and started typing a note—names, dates, everything Savannah had just told me. If I was going to build a case, it needed to be airtight. Military police training wasn’t just for chasing soldiers who went AWOL. It made you good at building timelines, linking evidence, and keeping emotions out of the paperwork.
Savannah shifted on the bed, wincing. “You can’t let this mess up your job, Maddie.”
I looked her straight in the eye. “My job is protecting people. That doesn’t stop at the gate.”
Her shoulders eased just a fraction. Chloe reached over and took her mom’s hand, the necklace still dangling from her other fist. I glanced at the clock. It was pushing 3:30 in the morning, but my brain was wide awake. Kyle and Patricia had crossed a line, and I wasn’t the type to let that slide. I leaned back in the chair, already planning my next step, and kept my voice steady when I spoke again. “We’re going to make sure this never happens to you or Chloe again.”
The hallway outside the ER room smelled like burnt coffee and antiseptic. As I stepped out to make a call, I dialed a number I knew by heart. Staff Sergeant Hill over at CID. It was late, but Hill was a night owl—the kind of guy who answered on the first ring.
“Maddie, you on duty?”
“Not officially,” I said. “But I’ve got a situation. Domestic violence, possible financial exploitation tied to VA benefits. Victims: my sister. Suspects: her husband and our mother.”
There was a pause. “That’s messy.”
“Yeah. I need to know how much I can dig without crossing into unauthorized access.”
Hill exhaled. “You know the drill. If she signs a release, you can gather her personal financial records. But anything tied to his VA claim, that’s federal. Get it the wrong way—you’re the one in hot water.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
I hung up and went back inside. Savannah was propped up a little higher now, looking more awake. I pulled a folded form from my bag—standard power of attorney template I kept for emergencies.
“Sign this. It lets me act on your behalf for banking and benefits inquiries. I’ll make copies for the court later.”
She hesitated. “Is this really going to help?”
“It’s going to start a trail they can’t erase,” I said.
She signed, her handwriting shaky but legible. I took a photo of the form immediately just in case. Sitting at the small table in the corner, I opened my laptop. The hospital Wi-Fi was slow, but it did the job. Using the routing number from Savannah’s most recent benefit letter, I traced it through public records and cross-referenced it with bank location codes. The account was in both Kyle Merik and Patricia Blake’s names. Scrolling through linked transactions, I hit a list of merchant codes that made my teeth clench. Vegas resort charges, a Florida condo deposit, high-end sporting goods stores. Not a single payment to anything that even sounded like it might help Chloe.
I turned the screen so Savannah could see. “This is where Khloe’s money went.”
Her lips pressed together hard, eyes filling, but not spilling over. Khloe was quiet, but she’d rolled her chair closer. She looked at the screen and then at me. “Grandma said it was for the family.”
“Chloe,” I said gently. “Taking your money without permission isn’t helping the family.”
She looked down, fidgeting with the necklace.
I saved every screenshot, every traceable number. Then I encrypted the folder and backed it up twice. Years in the service had taught me that you don’t keep one copy of anything that matters.
Savannah shifted. “If they find out you’re digging, they’ll—I don’t know. Kyle can get mean fast.”
“Let him,” I said. “Mean’s easier to handle than clever.”
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. “You stick your nose in, you’ll lose your stripes.” I tilted the screen so Savannah could see.
“Kyle.” She nodded once.
I deleted the message, but not before taking a screenshot. Harassment from the suspect. Another piece of the puzzle.
A nurse came in to check Savannah’s vitals, and I stepped into the hall again. I called Hill back. “Got a co-signed account, non-beneficiary spending. Suspect just sent a threatening text.”
“That enough to raise flags? Enough to get VA interested,” Hill said. “But tread carefully. Your family, so anything you dig up personally might get challenged. Let a lawyer run point.”
I already knew which one. Deborah Langley. She chewed up worse cases and spat them out in neat court victories. I made a note to call her in the morning.
Back inside, Khloe had dozed off in her chair, still holding the necklace. Savannah was watching her like she was afraid to blink.
“Get some rest,” I told her. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
End of two.
She closed her eyes, but I could tell she wasn’t sleeping yet. My mind was already running through what came next. Legal filings, protective orders, securing those bank records before they vanished. One thing was certain, I wasn’t letting Patricia and Kyle keep control of anything that belonged to Kloe.
The sun was just burning through the early haze when I pulled into my assigned parking spot back at the base housing. I’d left Savannah and Chloe at the hospital with a security detail I trusted, figuring it was safer to put some distance between them and anyone who might try to finish what was started. I hadn’t even gotten my boots off when there was a knock at my door. Two slow taps, a pause, then two more. The kind of rhythm people use when they think you’ll open up just because they sound friendly.
I checked the peephole. Kyle Merik wearing a clean shirt and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I opened the door just far enough to block him with my shoulder.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
He gave a little chuckle. “Relax, I’m just here to clear the air. We’re all family, right?”
“Wrong,” I said flatly.
Kyle leaned on the frame like he owned it. “Savannah likes to make me out as the bad guy when she’s the one with the problems. I take care of things, Maddie. Always have, but she’s been running her mouth to you, and I don’t appreciate it.”
I didn’t blink. She didn’t have to say much. The bruises spoke for her.
His smile twitched. “You’re making a mistake getting involved. You’ve got a career you care about.”
“Yeah.”
“Be a shame if your CO heard you were misusing your position.”
I let the silence stretch, then slowly lifted my phone from my pocket and tilted it so the red recording dot was visible. “Keep talking, Kyle.”
That wiped the smirk clean off his face. He stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets. “You think you’re smart, but you don’t get how this works. Patricia’s on my side. She’s got pull in this town more than you think. Whatever story Savannah’s spinning, it’s just noise. You let this go, and we all move on.”
“Not happening.”
His jaw tightened. “This isn’t over.”
I watched him turn and head toward the lot, his shoulders stiff. The second he was out of sight, I locked the door and transferred the recording to my encrypted drive. The audio wasn’t a confession, but it was intimidation. Good leverage for court and for VA investigators. I poured myself a coffee I didn’t really want and sat at the kitchen table, listening to the playback. His tone said more than his words. The guy was used to getting his way by pushing people until they folded. That might have worked on Savannah, but I’d been through worse than his cheap threats.
A few minutes later, my neighbor, Sergeant First Class Daniels, stopped by. He’d seen Kyle leaving and asked if everything was okay. I gave him the bare-bones version—enough for him to understand there might be trouble without dragging him into it. Daniels nodded, said he’d keep an eye out, and left.
I spent the next hour organizing everything I had so far: the screenshots of the bank account, the threatening text, the recording from the doorway. I added timestamps, file names, and short summaries so nothing got lost in the shuffle. Years of writing incident reports had drilled into me that a sloppy file was worse than no file at all.
By the time I shut the laptop, I’d made up my mind to head back to the hospital. I wanted to be there when Savannah woke up enough to answer a few more questions. But first, I stopped by the base legal office to grab extra victim statement forms and a few information packets on protective orders. If Savannah was going to do this, she needed to know exactly what her options were.
As I walked back out to my truck, I spotted a black SUV idling down the street, tinted windows, engine running. When I turned my head toward it, it pulled away slowly, no plates visible from my angle. My gut said it wasn’t a coincidence. I got in, started the engine, and drove toward the hospital without looking back. Whatever game Kyle and Patricia thought they were playing, they just made the mistake of bringing it into my territory.
The hospital lobby was buzzing with shift-change chatter when I walked in, a stack of legal forms tucked under my arm. I spotted Deborah Langley leaning against the reception desk, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked like she’d been awake since yesterday, which was probably true.
“You called? I came,” she said as soon as she saw me. “And you weren’t kidding. I pulled court records on Merik. Two prior domestic disturbance calls, no charges filed. And your mother—Patricia Blake’s name shows up as a character witness in both.”
“That tracks,” I said, leading her toward Savannah’s room.
We walked in to find Savannah sitting upright, hair brushed, eyes alert, but wary. Chloe was beside her bed, watching the morning news on the wall-mounted television.
Deborah set her coffee on the counter and introduced herself. “I’m here to protect you and your daughter,” she told Savannah. “But I don’t work miracles. I work facts. So, I need everything, even the ugly parts.”
Savannah glanced at me, then back at Deborah. “You’ll hear it all, but there’s something else. This was waiting for me when I woke up.” She reached over to the side table and picked up an envelope. Inside was a freshly stamped summons—petition for emergency custody filed by Kyle Merik.
The air in the room went heavy. Deborah scanned it quickly. “He’s claiming you’re unfit. Says you abandoned the marital home, have no income, and can’t provide medical care for Chloe.”
“That’s all lies,” Savannah said, voice shaking.
“Doesn’t matter,” Deborah replied. “What matters is he’s got it on paper. We have 5 days before the hearing, less if he pushes for an emergency ruling.”
I pulled the victim statement forms from my bag and set them in front of Savannah. “Fill these out. Every detail you remember about last night and anything else that shows a pattern.”
Savannah looked overwhelmed, but Deborah leaned in. “You do this now while it’s fresh. And Maddie, get me that bank evidence you mentioned.”
I opened my laptop, pulled up the encrypted folder, and slid it over. Deborah’s eyes moved fast over the screenshots. “This is gold, not just for custody, but for criminal charges. A judge will have a hard time giving him Chloe if we show he’s been stealing from her.”
Savannah’s pen scratched across the forms while Deborah kept talking strategy. “We’ll also file for a temporary protective order today that keeps him from contacting you or Kloe directly. If he violates it, he’s done.”
I nodded. “Already got a recording of him showing up at my place this morning trying to intimidate me.”
“Perfect,” Deborah said. “That goes in too.”
Chloe turned from the television. “Does that mean we don’t have to see him anymore?”
“That’s the goal,” Deborah told her with a small smile.
A knock at the door interrupted us. A nurse poked her head in. “Captain Cole, there’s a call for you at the front desk. Someone said it’s urgent.”
I stepped out and picked up the handset. A clipped voice on the other end said, “This is Captain Reigns. I need you in my office at 1,400 to discuss a complaint filed against you for abuse of authority. Don’t be late.”
I knew without asking who filed it. “Understood, sir.”
When I got back to the room, Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Patricia’s playing dirty.”
“Looks that way,” I said.
Deborah didn’t look surprised. “Then we hit back harder. I’ll get the custody motion filed by noon. You deal with your chain of command, keep it clean, and don’t give them anything they can use against you.”
Savannah handed me the completed forms, her signature at the bottom of each page. “I’m scared, Maddie. He’s not going to stop.”
I took them from her carefully. “That’s why we make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”
Deborah gathered her things, already on the phone to the courthouse as she walked out. I stood there for a moment watching Savannah and Chloe together and knew we’d just shifted from defense to offense.
By the time I walked into Captain Reigns’s office, the blinds were already drawn and a thick manila folder sat on his desk. He didn’t bother with small talk.
“Close the door, Cole.”
I did and stood at parade rest in front of his desk. He opened the folder and slid a typed statement toward me.
“Your mother, Patricia Blake, alleges you’ve been using your position in the military police to access civilian financial records without authorization. She claims you’re targeting her and her son-in-law out of personal bias.”
I kept my face neutral. “Sir, that’s not accurate. I have a signed power of attorney from my sister, the account holder’s spouse. Everything I’ve done is legal and documented.”
He studied me for a moment. “I believe you, but accusations like this don’t disappear just because you’re right. CID will review it. Meanwhile, keep your investigation within civilian legal channels. No crossing the line.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back. “And Cole—family drama has a way of ending careers. Be careful. Dismissed.”
I headed out into the hallway, my phone buzzing in my pocket. It was a voicemail from Patricia. Her voice was syrupy sweet, but every word was barbed. “You’ve made a fool of yourself, Madison. You think you can protect Savannah? You’re going to lose your job, and when you do, she’ll have no one.”
I deleted it without saving. Some things weren’t worth keeping.
By the time I got back to the hospital, Deborah was waiting in the lobby, a folder in her hands. “Filed the protective order. Judge set an emergency hearing for tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” I said, “because Kyle’s not backing off.”
Deborah’s expression sharpened. “What happened?”
“He’s got Patricia running interference. Filed a complaint with my CO trying to tie my hands.”
She smirked. “If they’re scared enough to hit you from two angles, it means you’ve got them cornered.”
We headed upstairs. Savannah was asleep, but Khloe was awake playing a quiet game on a tablet.
I knelt beside her. “You doing okay?”
She nodded. “Mom said we might have to go to court.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And when we do, you won’t have to say anything unless you want to. That’s for the grown-ups to handle.”
Deborah and I stepped into the hallway to talk. “I’ve been digging,” she said. “Kyle’s VA benefits paperwork doesn’t match his service record. He’s claiming a disability rating for an injury that never happened. If we can get the VA Office of Inspector General on this, he’s looking at more than losing custody.”
“That’s going to take time,” I said.
“Then we start now.”
I called Hill again, gave him the basics without crossing the line into classified info. He promised to flag it for OIG review. When I hung up, Deborah handed me a copy of the custody petition.
“Read this. Every lie, every exaggeration—they’ll throw it at the judge tomorrow. We counter with the bank records, the protective order, and your recording of him threatening you.”
I scanned the petition. Kyle had painted Savannah as unstable, financially irresponsible, and neglectful of Khloe’s medical needs. It was so far from the truth, it would have been funny if it wasn’t so dangerous.
Savannah stirred and opened her eyes. “Was someone talking about Kyle?”
“Always,” I said. “But right now, we’re focused on making sure tomorrow goes in your favor.”
Her voice was soft. “I can’t lose Chloe.”
“You won’t,” I said. “Not while I’m breathing.”
We spent the next hour going over her statement, tightening the timeline, making sure every incident had a date, a place, and if possible, a witness. Khloe’s teacher could testify to bruises she’d noticed, and the neighbor had seen Kyle yelling in the yard more than once. By the time we were done, Deborah had enough to make a judge think twice about anything Kyle said. I printed an extra copy for Savannah to review overnight.
Outside, the evening light was fading, and I could feel the weight of the next day settling in. The fight wasn’t just about proving Savannah’s side. It was about making sure Kyle and Patricia couldn’t twist the system to punish her for leaving. I knew they’d come hard tomorrow. I planned to come harder.
Morning came too early, and the courthouse smelled faintly of burnt coffee and floor polish. Deborah and I sat at the plaintiff’s table, stacks of labeled folders in front of us. Across the aisle, Kyle sat in a suit that looked one size too big, arms folded like he was waiting for someone to hand him a trophy. Patricia was right next to him, wearing a pastel blazer and an expression so self-satisfied it could have been painted on.
Savannah sat between me and Deborah, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Kloe was in a separate room with a child advocate, coloring while the adults sorted out her future. The judge, a silver-haired man with sharp glasses, took his seat.
“This is an emergency hearing on custody and protective orders in Merik versus Merik.”
Kyle’s attorney started first, painting Savannah as an unstable mother who had abandoned the marital home in the dead of night and left Chloe in emotional turmoil. Every other sentence was dressed up to sound like fact, but felt like theater.
Deborah didn’t even look rattled. When it was her turn, she stood and spoke in the calm, deliberate tone of someone who dismantled cases like this a hundred times.
“Your honor, my client did leave the marital home, but only after being physically assaulted in front of her disabled child. We have medical reports, photographs, and sworn statements to that effect.”
She slid a set of photos across to the bailiff, who passed them up to the bench. The judge’s eyebrows twitched as he flipped through the images of Savannah’s bruises and medical records.
Deborah continued, “We also have documentation showing Mr. Merik and Miss Blake—” She tilted her head toward Patricia—“co-managing an account into which Khloe’s VA-derived benefits are deposited. Funds from this account have been spent on vacations, personal purchases, and unrelated luxury items, not on Khloe’s care.”
Patricia shifted in her seat, but didn’t look at me. Kyle smirked, but it looked more forced now.
The judge leaned forward. “Do you have evidence of this spending?”
“Yes, your honor.” Deborah passed over the bank statements I’d compiled. Every questionable transaction was highlighted and annotated.
“These are supported by screenshots and transaction codes, all obtained with my client’s authorization.”
Kyle’s attorney tried to object, claiming privacy violations, but Deborah cut in before the judge could speak. “The account is co-owned with my client’s mother, who is here in court, and the funds originate from benefits granted to my client for her child’s care. We are entitled to show how they’ve been used or misused.”
The judge nodded slowly. “Overruled. Proceed.”
Deborah pulled her final card. “And finally, your honor, we submit an audio recording from yesterday morning in which Mr. Merik approached Captain Cole’s residence and attempted to intimidate her into dropping this matter.”
We played the clip. Kyle’s voice filled the courtroom. “You’re making a mistake getting involved. You’ve got a career you care about. Yeah? Be a shame if your CO heard you were misusing your position.”
When the recording ended, the room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.
The judge scribbled something in his notes. “Miss Blake,” he said to Patricia, “do you have a response to these allegations?”
Patricia clasped her hands and turned on a voice dripping with false concern. “Your honor, my daughter has always been dramatic. She’s twisting family disagreements into—well—into what you’ve just heard. I’ve only ever acted in Khloe’s best interests.”
It was a good performance for anyone who didn’t know her.
The judge didn’t tip his hand. He simply said, “I’ll take that under advisement. Counsel?”
When both sides had finished, the judge announced he’d review everything and issue a temporary ruling within the day. But he didn’t leave us wondering about one thing. “Until that ruling, the existing temporary protective order remains in full effect. Mr. Merik, you are to have no contact with your wife or child outside of court-approved visitation.”
Kyle’s jaw flexed. Patricia leaned in to whisper something to him, but I didn’t care what it was.
Outside the courtroom, Savannah let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t think he’d keep the order in place.”
Deborah closed her folder. “We’re just getting started.”
I walked them toward the parking lot, scanning the sidewalk out of habit. Every step felt like we’d carved out a little more ground they couldn’t take back.
We had barely made it halfway to my truck when my phone buzzed again. Another unknown number. I answered without thinking. A man’s voice, low and deliberate, said, “Drop it, captain, or the army’s going to think you’ve gone rogue.” Then the line went dead.
Deborah caught the look on my face. “That didn’t sound like a wrong number.”
“It wasn’t,” I said, sliding the phone into my pocket. “That’s twice in two days.”
Savannah glanced over her shoulder like she expected Kyle to be standing right behind us. I got her and Kloe into my truck, locked the doors, and drove them straight back to the hospital. Deborah followed in her own car.
Upstairs, I found a quiet corner and sent the call log to Hill at CID with a short message. “Possible harassment, unknown male, likely tied to VA fraud suspects.”
His reply came fast. “Careful. We’re seeing red flags on Merik’s VA file. Don’t discuss details over this line.”
When I got back to Savannah’s room, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, pale but alert. “Mom called me,” she said. “She told me if I kept embarrassing the family, she’d make sure Khloe ended up in foster care.”
That set my teeth on edge. “She doesn’t have the power to do that.”
Savannah’s eyes dropped. “She says she knows people at child protective services—said all it takes is one complaint about my mental stability.”
I didn’t doubt Patricia had friends in low places. I also knew that the best way to kill a threat like that was with documentation.
“Write it down,” I told her. “Every word she said. Date, time, and her number on your caller ID.”
Deborah came in then, flipping through her phone. “You’ll want to hear this. The VA investigator I contacted says Kyle’s claim file is a mess. He’s reporting an injury from a deployment he never went on. If that’s true, it’s federal fraud.”
Savannah looked stunned. “How could he even—?”
“Because he knows how to work the system,” Deborah said. “And probably because Patricia’s been helping him.”
I pulled my laptop over and started building a timeline: the benefit deposits, the luxury spending, the domestic violence incidents, the court filings, and now the harassment calls. Laying it out in one document made the picture sharper. This wasn’t just family drama. It was a coordinated pattern of financial and emotional abuse.
Kloe rolled her wheelchair closer. “Is grandma going to get in trouble, too?”
I didn’t sugarcoat it. “If she’s been helping Kyle steal from you, yes.”
“And—”
“—and she should be,” I added.
Chloe thought about that for a second, then nodded like she was okay with it.
Deborah’s phone rang. She stepped into the hallway to take it, and when she came back, her expression was tight. “That was the VA. They’re opening a formal investigation. They’ll need both of you to give statements.”
Savannah’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will that put him in jail?”
“If the evidence is solid, it could,” Deborah said.
The tension in the room was heavy enough to choke on, but I could feel something shifting. For the first time, Kyle and Patricia weren’t the only ones pulling strings.
I checked my watch. “I have to stop by the legal office before they close. Deborah, can you stay with them?”
“Of course,” she said.
On my way out, my phone buzzed again. This time, a text from an unfamiliar email address: “You’re not untouchable. Remember that.” I screenshotted it and sent it straight to Hill. His reply: “Lock your doors tonight.”
By the time I reached my truck, the air had cooled and the street lights were starting to flicker on. I sat behind the wheel for a moment, looking at the hospital entrance in the rearview mirror. If Patricia and Kyle thought intimidation would slow me down, they hadn’t been paying attention. The line between protecting my family and going to war had officially vanished.
The next morning started with a knock on my office door at the MP station. Sergeant Vega stepped in, holding a printed memo.
“Captain, you’ve been called to testify in an Article 32 hearing. Name on the docket, Kyle Merik.”
I skimmed the header. It was exactly what I’d expected: preliminary hearing to determine whether the VA fraud charges and intimidation complaint warranted a court-martial or federal referral.
“CID’s moving fast,” Vega said.
“Good,” I replied, tucking the memo into my folder.
By 0900, I was in a small hearing room on base. The military prosecutor laid out the basics: Kyle’s fraudulent injury claim, the co-mingling of Kloe’s benefits with his personal account, and the intimidation attempts against a serving officer—me. Kyle sat at the defense table in his dress uniform, looking like the world’s most reluctant soldier. Patricia wasn’t there, but her influence hovered like smoke.
When it was my turn, I kept my testimony tight: how Savannah had signed the power of attorney, the records I’d gathered legally, and the harassment messages I’d received. The defense attorney tried to rattle me by suggesting I’d used my position to dig deeper than allowed. I didn’t take the bait.
“Everything I provided was obtained with my sister’s explicit consent and through civilian-accessible channels.”
CID’s lead investigator followed me, presenting evidence from the VA’s own files: deployment records that didn’t match Kyle’s claims, and medical documentation clearly fabricated. It wasn’t just sloppy; it was brazen. By the time the hearing adjourned, the presiding officer had more than enough to send the fraud charge up the chain.
Kyle avoided eye contact as we filed out, jaw tight, fists clenched. Outside, Hill caught up with me.
“That went well, but keep your guard up. He’s cornered. And cornered people swing wild.”
“I’m ready for it,” I said.
Back at the hospital, Savannah was propped up in bed, looking a little stronger.
“Deborah said you were in court again?” she asked.
“Not exactly court. A hearing on base. Kyle’s VA fraud is now officially under investigation.”
She blinked, processing. “Does that mean—”
“It means he’s got more problems than just custody.”
Chloe wheeled over, holding a piece of paper. “I made a list for you. All the times Grandma was mean to mom in case it helps.”
I took it from her—dates, short descriptions, even little stick figure drawings. It wasn’t formal evidence, but it painted a clear picture of the environment Savannah and Kloe had been living in. I slipped it into my folder. “It helps a lot.”
Deborah came in a few minutes later, her phone in hand. “The state court just gave us a date for the next custody hearing. Two weeks. And I’ve got a witness willing to testify—They saw Patricia cashing benefit checks and handing cash to Kyle.”
Savannah’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Your old neighbor, Mrs. Allen,” Deborah said. “She’s tired of watching them get away with it.”
That was a win. But there was still the matter of Patricia’s complaint to my CO. I had a scheduled sit down with Reigns later that afternoon to submit my formal response. I already had a neat packet ready: Savannah’s signed consent, timestamps on every data pull, and a sworn statement from Deborah confirming she directed most of the collection.
Before I left the hospital, Savannah caught my hand. “Be careful, Maddie. You’re fighting them on too many fronts.”
“I’m not the one who should be worried,” I said.
At Reains’s office, I laid out the packet. He read the top page, then glanced at me. “You’ve covered yourself well. I’ll forward this to JAG for review, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve stayed in bounds.”
That was one less weight on my back. Walking out, I felt the shift like the pieces were finally aligning. Kyle was boxed in by both military and civilian law. Patricia was exposed as an accomplice, and Savannah was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could win. Now, all that was left was to make sure they didn’t find a way to twist the knife before we closed the case.
The courthouse hallway was already echoing with footsteps when we arrived for the next custody session. Savannah walked between me and Deborah, clutching a slim binder of her statement and medical records. Kloe stayed home with a trusted family friend. There was no reason for her to be in the middle of this scene.
Inside the courtroom, Kyle sat alone at the defendant’s table. No Patricia today—her absence almost more telling than her presence. His attorney whispered in his ear, but Kyle’s eyes kept darting toward us. The judge called the session to order, and Deborah wasted no time.
“Your honor, before we proceed with further arguments, we have new testimony from a direct witness to financial misconduct involving the child’s benefits.”
The bailiff opened the side door and in walked Mrs. Allen, Savannah’s former neighbor. She was a small, no-nonsense woman with a handbag that looked like it could double as a blunt weapon.
She took the stand, swore in, and began. “I’ve lived next door to Patricia Blake for 7 years. I’ve seen her pick up benefit checks meant for Savannah’s daughter and hand cash to Mr. Merrick more times than I can count. I asked her once why she was doing it. She told me, and I quote, ‘It’s better in my hands than in Savannah’s.’”
Kyle’s attorney jumped up to object, but the judge overruled. “Continue.”
Mrs. Allen didn’t flinch. “I also saw them bring home expensive items—flat screen TVs, new golf clubs, trips out of town—all while Savannah was scraping by.”
Deborah let that sit for a moment, then handed the judge the annotated bank records, linking each questionable purchase to dates Mrs. Allen had mentioned. “Your honor, this shows a consistent pattern of misappropriating funds intended for Khloe’s care.”
The judge flipped through the pages, expression unreadable. “Mr. Merrick, do you wish to respond?”
Kyle shifted, then said, “I didn’t handle the money—Patricia did. If there’s a problem, it’s on her.”
It was the crack we’d been waiting for. Deborah pounced. “So, you’re saying your mother-in-law handled Khloe’s benefits? Because that contradicts your sworn statement from last month where you claimed you managed all household finances yourself.”
Kyle froze, realizing too late he’d just undercut his own testimony.
The judge made a note. “We’ll revisit that inconsistency shortly.”
Deborah then introduced the timeline I’d built, laying out incidents of abuse, the threats, and the financial exploitation in chronological order. Seeing it all lined up—dates, witnesses, transactions—turned the scattered events into a clear narrative of control and harm.
Savannah’s voice was steady when she was called to the stand. “I left because Kyle hit me in front of my daughter, because my mother told me I was overreacting, and because they were stealing from Chloe. I didn’t abandon my home. I escaped it.”
When she stepped down, I saw a flicker of something in Kyle’s face—not remorse, but the realization that the walls were closing in.
The judge leaned back. “Given the evidence and testimony today, I’m granting temporary full custody to Mrs. Merrick with no visitation rights to Mr. Merrick until further review. All benefit funds are to be redirected to an account managed solely by Mrs. Merrick for the child’s care. Any interference will be met with sanctions.”
It wasn’t the final ruling, but it was the strongest interim order we could have hoped for. Kyle’s attorney started to speak, but the judge cut him off. “Save it for the final hearing.”
As we left the courtroom, Savannah exhaled a breath she’d been holding for weeks. “I didn’t think it would happen this fast.”
Deborah gave a small smile. “That’s what happens when the trap shuts clean.”
In the hallway, I caught sight of Kyle watching us go, his expression hard but hollow. Whatever power he thought he had, it was slipping fast, and he knew it.
The final custody hearing landed on a rainy Thursday—the kind of weather that made the courthouse steps slick and the air feel heavier than it was. Savannah walked in beside me, her binder thicker now with weeks’ worth of evidence. Deborah trailed us, calm and sharp as ever, carrying her trial bag like it was a weapon. Kyle was already seated when we entered, this time with Patricia at his side. She’d chosen a conservative navy dress and a string of pearls, the picture of maternal respectability if you didn’t know her.
The judge wasted no time. “We’ll begin with the petitioner’s closing arguments.”
Kyle’s attorney leaned hard on the narrative they’d been pushing from day one: Savannah was unstable, financially incapable, and had turned her family against her husband out of spite. It sounded rehearsed, hollow against the backdrop of everything we’d laid out.
When it was Deborah’s turn, she didn’t rush. She started with the medical records, moving to the photographic evidence, then to the benefit misuse with exact dollar amounts. Finally, she held up the transcript from the VA investigation—confirmation that Kyle’s disability claim was fabricated and under federal review.
“And most importantly,” she said, “we have an audio recording where Mr. Merrick attempts to intimidate my client’s sister, Captain Madison Cole, into dropping this case. That’s not the behavior of a man prioritizing his child’s well-being.”
The judge listened without interrupting.
Then Deborah added, “Your honor, this is not simply a divorce. It is a case of domestic abuse, financial exploitation, and coordinated attempts to obstruct justice. Allowing Mr. Merik or Miss Blake unsupervised access to Khloe would put her at risk.”
Patricia shifted in her seat, lips pressed tight. When the judge asked if she wanted to testify, she declined. That told me more than anything she could have said.
Savannah took the stand one last time. Her voice didn’t shake. “I want my daughter to grow up safe, knowing she doesn’t have to be afraid of the people who are supposed to protect her. That’s all I’m asking for.”
When she stepped down, the judge folded his hands. “I’ve reviewed the evidence, heard the testimony, and considered the child’s best interests. Effective immediately, Mrs. Merrick is granted full physical and legal custody of Khloe Merik. Mr. Merick’s visitation is revoked until further order of the court. Miss—”
“—Blake’s contact with the child is limited to supervised visitation in a state-approved facility. Additionally, any benefits derived from the child’s condition will be administered solely by Mrs. Merrick. The misuse of said benefits is referred to the appropriate federal authorities.”
The gavel hit the block, the sound sharp and final. Kyle’s face went slack. Patricia didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes forward as if distance might save her. Savannah gripped my hand, tears welling but not falling.
“It’s over,” she whispered.
Deborah began packing her files. “One chapter is, but now we make sure the enforcement sticks.”
As we walked out, reporters who’d caught wind of the VA fraud swarmed the steps. Deborah fielded them while I guided Savannah through the crowd. Rain dotted her hair, and for the first time in months, she didn’t look over her shoulder. Across the street, a black SUV idled, the same type I’d seen before. This time, I didn’t feel the knot in my stomach. They could watch all they wanted. There was nothing left for them to take.
Savannah squeezed my arm as we reached the curb. “Thank you, Maddie, for not letting them win.”
“They were never going to,” I said, and meant it.
We stepped off the courthouse steps into the wet pavement, the sound of rain mixing with the distant hum of traffic. Savannah stopped just long enough to pull Khloe’s silver chain from her pocket, the one with the tiny heart charm she’d worn the night she showed up at my door. She pressed it into my palm.
“You kept us safe. I want you to have this.”
I closed my fingers around it, the metal still warm. “I’m not taking it from you.”
“It’s not about taking,” she said. “It’s about remembering what you did for us.”
Before I could respond, Deborah joined us, phone in hand. “VA OIG just confirmed: Kyle’s losing his benefits. Fraud is on the table and they’re kicking it to the U.S. Attorney’s Office for possible charges.”
Savannah let out a breath like she’d been holding it for years. “So he can’t touch Khloe or the money anymore.”
“Not legally,” Deborah said. “And with the protective orders in place, if he even tries, he’s in violation.”
We walked toward my truck, weaving past puddles and lingering reporters. I kept my eyes moving out of habit, but there was no sign of Kyle or Patricia. They’d lost the big play. Now it was just clean up.
Back at Savannah’s temporary apartment, Kloe barreled to the door as soon as we walked in. She’d been with Mrs. Allen, who had baked cookies and made the place smell like a safe house instead of a hideout. Chloe grinned up at Savannah. “Did we win?”
Savannah knelt, hugging her tight. “Yeah, baby. We won.”
Chloe looked at me next. “Does this mean grandma can’t yell at us anymore?”
“That’s exactly what it means,” I told her.
Over the next couple of days, the pace finally slowed. Deborah wrapped up the paperwork for the custody enforcement, and CID updated me that Kyle was now under both military and civilian investigation. Patricia had been contacted by federal agents. No charges yet, but the door was open.
One evening, Savannah came into the kitchen where I was making coffee. “I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again,” she said. “Like Chloe and I actually have a future that’s ours.”
“That’s the point,” I replied. “Safety first, everything else after.”
She leaned on the counter. “What about you? You’ve been in this fight as much as I have. Doesn’t it wear you down?”
“Sure,” I said honestly. “But I’ve been in tougher spots. This one mattered more because it’s family.”
Later that week, CID closed out my side of the inquiry from Patricia’s complaint. Reigns called me into his office to give the news in person. “JAG found no misconduct,” he said. “You’re clear.”
It wasn’t just relief. It was like a weight I’d forgotten I was carrying finally slid off my shoulders.
On the way home, I stopped by Savannah’s. Chloe was on the couch working through a jigsaw puzzle. She glanced up. “Are you still going to be around even if you have to go back to the army?”
“Always,” I told her. “Just maybe not every day in person.”
“Okay.” She nodded, satisfied, and went back to her puzzle.
That night, as I drove back to my own place, the rain had stopped. The streets were still wet, reflecting the street lights like thin gold ribbons. It hit me then—this wasn’t just about winning in court or beating Kyle at his own game. It was about making sure Savannah and Kloe could live without fear and knowing that I’d done my job as a sister and as a soldier.
A week later, I stood on the parade field in my service uniform, watching a fresh group of recruits struggle through their morning drills. My transfer to the training command had been approved. And this was my first day out of the investigation’s grind. No late-night knocks from CID. No last-minute subpoenas, just shaping new soldiers before they ever hit the field. Reains had signed off on the reassignment himself. “You’ve done more than your share,” he’d said. “Time to put that experience to work in a place where no one can accuse you of playing favorites.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but the idea of a steady schedule and no surprise harassment calls sounded like a luxury.
At lunch, I took my coffee outside, phone buzzing with a photo from Savannah. Chloe was in the backyard of their new townhouse, her wheelchair parked in the grass, arms raised in a victory pose as she fed the neighbor’s golden retriever a treat. Savannah had written, “She says this is her safe spot.” I stared at the picture for a long minute before saving it to my home screen.
That evening, I drove over to see them. The townhouse was small but bright, with a ramp out front and wind chimes hanging by the door. Chloe greeted me first, practically bouncing in her chair.
“Want to see my room?”
She gave me a full tour—shelves stacked with books, a desk under the window, and the silver chain now hanging from a pegboard above her bed.
“So I don’t lose it,” she explained.
Savannah joined us, leaning against the doorway. “She’s been sleeping better. No nightmares, no waking up crying.”
“That’s what happens when you’re not living in fight or flight,” I said.
We ended up in the kitchen sharing takeout and talking about mundane things—school schedules, Khloe’s new physical therapy program, the fact that Savannah’s thinking about picking up part-time work again. No tense glances at the door, no scanning the street for a certain SUV, just normal.
As I was leaving, Savannah walked me out to my truck.
“You know,” she said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d been bracing for the next bad thing until it stopped happening.”
“That’s the part no one tells you,” I said. “Justice isn’t about payback. It’s about safety. About not having to look over your shoulder every day.”
She gave me a tight hug. “You gave us that, Maddie.”
Driving home, I thought about the last two months—how fast it had escalated, how ugly it had gotten, and how close it had come to breaking more than just legal lines. It struck me that in the army we talk about completing the mission like it’s a finish line. But this wasn’t a mission you could clock out of. Protecting them wasn’t a one-time order. It was permanent.
Back at my apartment, I dropped my cover on the counter and sat down with a fresh notebook. On the first page, I wrote in big block letters, “Keep them safe, always.” It wasn’t policy. It wasn’t military doctrine. It was just the only thing that mattered.
Looking back, it’s almost strange how something that started with a knock at my door at 2 in the morning turned into the fight of my life outside the uniform. I’ve dealt with hostile suspects, tense standoffs, and high-pressure missions. But nothing compares to staring down your own family when they’ve crossed the line. In the army, we train to protect the people who can’t protect themselves. Turns out that mission doesn’t stop when you leave base. It just changes shape. Savannah and Chloe aren’t just safe now. They’re free. And for me, that’s the only victory that ever mattered.
