Chapter 7
Three days later, I brought Gwen home.
The house was completely different.
Every trace of Brenda was gone.
Her clothes.
Her pictures.
Her jewelry.
Her bags.
All of it packed up and shipped to a storage unit she would have to pay for herself if she ever wanted any of it.
The locks had all been changed.
A brand-new, state-of-the-art security system had been installed, with cameras covering every inch of the property, gates that only opened with my fingerprint or Gwen’s, and a direct line to the local police precinct.
I had hired a full-time, live-in nurse who specialized in high-risk pregnancies — a woman named Margaret, in her fifties, who had raised three boys of her own and who looked like she could lift a truck if she had to.
I had hired a new housekeeper and a new cook, both vetted personally, both with no connection whatsoever to my mother or my brother.
And I had stepped back from the company.
I promoted my COO to CEO.
He would run the day-to-day operations.
I would stay on as chairman, working from home, only going into the office once a week, if that.
My only job now was Gwen.
And our son.
Nothing else mattered.
The first week home was hard.
Gwen would flinch if I moved too fast.
She would have nightmares.
She would wake up screaming, convinced Brenda was in the house, convinced she was back under the table, convinced she was hungry and alone and no one was coming to save her.
I would hold her.
I would rock her.
I would walk her through every room of the house, showing her the locks, showing her the cameras, showing her Margaret sleeping down the hall, until she believed me that we were safe.
We started therapy.
Twice a week.
Together, and separately.
She talked about the fear.
The shame.
The guilt of not telling me sooner.
I talked about the guilt of not seeing it.
Of failing her.
Of letting my own desire to have a perfect family blind me to the monster living in our midst.
Slowly, day by day, she started to heal.
She started eating again.
She gained weight.
Her cheeks filled out.
Her hair got shiny again.
She laughed.
A real, loud, happy laugh I had not heard in almost a year.
We picked a name for our son.
Liam.
Liam Andrew Dawson.
Strong.
Solid.
A name that meant protector.
It felt right.
The legal side moved forward too.
The civil case against Brenda moved fast.
With the footage, the receipts, and her own recorded confessions, she had no defense.
The judge ruled in our favor in less than two hours.
She was ordered to pay back every single dollar she had stolen — all $122,417 — plus damages, plus all our legal fees.
The permanent restraining order was granted.
Five hundred feet.
For life.
She could not call us.
She could not write us.
She could not have a third party contact us on her behalf.
If she so much as drove past the end of our driveway, she would go straight to jail, no bail, no exceptions.
And then, right in the middle of the hearing, Gavin showed up.
He looked terrible.
He had lost weight.
His clothes were wrinkled.
He looked like he had not slept in weeks.
He waited until the judge had left the bench.
Then he walked over to where Gwen and I were standing.
He did not look at me.
He looked straight at Gwen.
And he did something I never thought he would do.
He apologized.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I knew. I saw. And I walked away. I was weak. I was greedy. I thought Mom was right, that you were just after the money, that it was all just a game. And then I saw the footage. All of it. And I realized — she’s evil, Gwen. She really is. And I let her do that to you. To Liam. I will never be able to make that right. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. Ever. I just wanted you both to know. I’m sorry. For everything.”
He paused.
He looked at me.
“I told the DA everything,” he said. “Everything Mom said to me. Everything she planned. I’m testifying against her at the criminal trial. Whatever she gets? She deserves every single day of it.”
He turned to walk away.
“Gavin,” I said.
He stopped.
“Thank you,” I said. “For doing the right thing. Even if it was late.”
He nodded.
He did not smile.
He walked out of the courtroom alone.
Gwen squeezed my hand.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “not everyone is lost.”
May you like
I squeezed back.
Maybe not.
